UNDERGROUND. 


THE 


,LED-HORSE    CLAIM, 

&  Romance  of  a  Hitting  Camp 

•  ;, 


BY 


MARY   HALLOCK   FOOTE 

AUTHOR  OF   "  FRIEND  BARTON'S  CONCERN,"    "  A  STORY  OF 
THE   DRY   SEASON,"    ETC. 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
s  @be  ftitaer?ibe  $re&$  Cambri&0e 


COPYRIGHT,    1882,    1883,    IQIO,   AND   1911,   BY   MARY   MALLOCK   FOOTE 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAG» 

I.    THE  NEW  MINING  CAMP 9 

II.     THE  TURNING  OF  A  WINDLASS 16 

III.  THE  SITUATION 28 

IV.  THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL 40 

V.    A  PHILOSOPHER  OF  THE  CAMP 68 

VI.    BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS 83 

VII.    THE  BARRICADE 106 

VIII.    THE  SHOSHONE  KITCHEN 131 

IX.  BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK    ....  149 

X.      CONRATH   COMES    HOME 166 

XL    THE  HONORS  OF  THE  CAMP 189 

XIL    ON  THE  DOWN  GRADE 205 

XIII.  NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO 215 

XIV.  LITTLE  REST 238 

XV.    OLD  PATHWAYS 248 

XVI.    THE  PATHS  MEET 267 

XVIL  EXIT  SHOSHONE                                            .  275 


297S2O 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


UNDERGROUND Frontispiece 

AT   THE   FOOT   OF   THE   PASS 10 

THE  LED-HORSE  IN  COUNCIL 38 

BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK 164 

"  SHE  DOUBTED  LONG  " 236 

CECIL'S  RING    .                                                        ,  276 


THE  LED -HORSE  CLAIM. 


THE  LED-HORSE 


I. 

THE  NEW  MINING-CAMP. 

THE  ark  of  the  mining  interests,  which  had 
drifted  about  unsteadily  after  the  break  in 
bonanza  stocks  in  the  summer  of  1877,  had 
rested,  a  year  or  two  later,  in  a  lofty  valley 
of  Colorado,  not  far  from  the  summit  of  that 
great  "  divide  "  which  parts  the  waters  of  the 
Continent.  It  rested  doubtfully,  awaiting 
the  olive-leaf  of  Eastern  capital.  Through  the 
agency  of  those  uncertain  doves  of  promise,  the 
promoter  of  mining  schemes  and  the  investor  in 
the  same,  the  olive-leaf  was  found,  and,  before 
the  snows  had  blocked  the  mountain-passes, 
the  gay,  storm-beleaguered  camp,  in  the  words 
of  its  exhibitory  press,  began  to  "  boom." 

The  snows  of  that  bleak  altitude  give  their 
first  warning  while  the  September  sun  is  still 


10  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

strong;  by  November  they  may  be  said  to 
prevail]';;;'  but  no  disheartening  combination 
ojf  bad  weather,  worse  roads,  and  worst  ac 
commodations  at  the  journey's  end,  could  de 
ter  the  pioneers  from  bearing  a  city  into  the 
unfriendliest  spot  where  such  exotic  growth 
ever  flourished.  Their  movement  had  the 
absolute  conviction,  the  devotedness,  of  a 
crusade.  They  pressed  onward,  across  the 
Great  South  Park,  following  its  white  wagon- 
trails  which  rise  and  sink  with  the  long  swells 
of  that  archaean  sea ;  pausing  in  the  dreary 
valley  at  the  foot  of  the  pass,  which  shelters 
the  caravansary-like  town  of  Fairplay  ;  strug 
gling  upward,  in  the  cold  light  of  early  morn 
ing,  along  the  mountain  sides ;  resting  again 
at  the  last  stage-station  above  the  timber-line, 
where  the  tough  fir  forests  bend,  and  fail,  and 
finally  give  up  altogether  the  ascent  of  those 
bare  slopes,  ever  whitening,  to  the  pitiless  re 
gion  of  lasting  snow  ;  on  again  into  the  stren 
uous  air  of  the  summits,  following  the  pass  as 
it  staggers  through  the  wild  canons ;  dizzily 
winding,  by  weary  grades,  down  to  the  deso 
late  land  of  promise. 
Foremost  in  the  strange  procession  were 


I;    ,'i!i  ;ijl!      ' 


11    8 


THE  NEW  MINING-CAMP.  11 

seen  those  wandering  Ishmaelite  families  whose 
sun-darkened  faces  peer  from  the  curtains  of 
their  tents  on  wheels,  along  every  road  which 
projects  the  frontier  farther  into  the  wilder 
ness. 

The  discontent  and  the  despair  of  older 
mining-camps  in  their  decadence  hastened  to 
mingle  their  bitterness  in  the  baptismal  cup 
of  the  new  one.  It  exhibited  in  its  earliest 
youth  every  symptom  of  humanity  in  its  de 
cline.  The  restless  elements  of  the  Eastern 
cities ;  the  disappointed,  the  reckless,  the  men 
with  failures  to  wipe  out,  with  losses  to  re 
trieve  or  to  forget,  the  men  of  whom  one 
knows  not  what  to  expect,  were  there ;  but 
as  its  practical  needs  increased  and  multi 
plied,  and  its  ability  to  pay  for  what  it  re 
quired  became  manifest,  the  new  settlement 
began  to  attract  a  safer  population. 

Even  the  hopes  of  the  gold-seeker  must  be 
fed  and  clothed  at  an  altitude  which  acts  like 
the  law  of  natural  selection  on  those  who  as 
pire  to  breathe  its  thin  air,  sparing  only  the 
sound  of  heart  and  lung,  and  fanning  the 
nerve-fires  into  breathless,  wasteful  energy. 
The  producer  answered  the  call  of  the  con- 


12  THE  LED-EORSE   CLAIM. 

sumer.  Men  of  all  trades  followed  the  miner. 
The  professions  followed  the  trades,  and  were 
represented,  generally,  by  men  in  their  youth. 

It  was,  perhaps,  this  immense,  though  un 
disciplined,  force  of  sanguine  youth  which 
saved  the  city.  The  dangerous  elements  of 
the  camp  —  the  mud,  the  weeds,  and  the  drift 
wood  which  would  have  choked  a  more 
sluggish  current  —  were  floated  and  swept 
onward  by  its  strong  tide.  The  new  board 
sidewalks  resounded  to  the  clean  step  of 
many  an  indomitable,  bright-faced  boy,  cadet 
of  some  good  Eastern  family,  and  neophyte 
in  the  business  of  earning  a  living,  with  a 
joyous  belief  in  his  own  abilities  and  a  clean 
record  to  imperil  in  proving  them.  The  older 
men,  who  had  come  with  a  slightly  shaken 
faith  in  themselves,  looked  half  compassion 
ately,  half  enviously,  at  these  knights  of  the 
virgin  shield. 

It  is  said  that  the  first  woman  of  the  camp 
crossed  the  range  on  foot  with  her  husband,  a 
German  miner,  and  helped  him  set  up  the 
"  poor  Lar  "  of  their  pine-board  shanty  dur 
ing  the  early  snows  of  the  first  autumn.  But 
those  accumulated  snows  were  wasting  under 


THE  NEW  MINING-CAMP.  13 

the  May  sun,  and  the  pass,  where  they  still 
lay  deep,  could  be  traced  from  a  long  way  off, 
—  a  line  of  white  crossing  the  purple  summit 
of  the  range,  —  before  the  steady  migration  of 
wives  and  children  began. 

It  was  a  grim  sort  of  nest-building  that 
went  on,  with  discordant  chorus  of  hammer 
and  saw,  through  the  spring  and  summer  and 
late  into  the  fall  of  the  second  year ;  but, 
whatever  its  subsequent  troubles  may  have 
been,  there  was  a  great  show  of  domestic 
felicity  in  the  camp  at  this  period.  Every 
incoming  stage  renewed  the  bridals  of  some 
long-separated  couple.  Each  man  who  could 
not  send  for  his  own  wife,  sympathized,  with 
boyish  gayety,  in  the  regeneration  of  his 
more  fortunate  comrade.  The  shop-windows 
moderated  their  display  of  velvet  riding-hab 
its,  embroidered  silk  stockings,  and  pink  silk 
peignoirs  trimmed  with  cascades  of  imitation 
lace,  —  their  temptations  to  feminine  purchas 
ers  taking  the  more  domestic  form  of  babies' 
knitted  hoods  and  sacques,  crash  towelling, 
and  the  newest  patterns  in  cretonne.  Every 
house  over  which  a  woman  presided  prac 
tised  a  hospitality  out  of  all  proportion,  in  its 


14  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

ecope,  to  the  capacities  of  the  rude  tabernacle. 
Every  young  wife,  in  her  access  of  happiness, 
felt  a  supreme  pity  for  the  great  army  of  the 
unmarried  that  nightly  walked  the  turbulent 
streets,  between  flashes  of  light  from  Terpsi- 
chorean  retreats,  and  cold  glimpses  out  of 
the  raw  city  through  the  open  spaces  of  un 
built  blocks,  toward  the  snow-lit  peaks.  Many 
an  unshaven  bachelor  would  have  smiled 
with  cheerful  scorn  at  this  missionary  spirit 
in  his  neighbor's  wife  ;  a  few  would  have 
misunderstood  it ;  many  profited  by  it ;  and 
many,  especially  the  very  young  men,  went 
their  way,  too  watchfully  absorbed  in  the 
keen-edged  life  of  the  place  to  be  conscious 
of  any  spiritual  or  social  need. 

Each  night,  as  the  constellations  mounted 
guard  above  the  pass,  a  redder  galaxy  lit  the 
dark  encampment  of  hills,  where  lonely  camp- 
fires,  outposts  of  the  settlement,  far  up  on 
the  wooded  slopes,  signalled  the  lights  from 
the  active  mines,  or  the  flaring  beacons  of 
smelting-furnaces  in  the  gulch.  Two  of  these 
distant  human  lights,  shining  on  the  oppo 
site  slopes  of  a  fir-lined  canon,  \vhich  divided 
them  like  a  river  of  darkness,  had  f  neighborly 


THE  NEW  MINING-CAMP.  15 

look  of  sympathy  in  their  isolation.  The  fir- 
darkened  canon  was  called  Led-Horse  Gulch. 
The  lights  which  beckoned  to  each  other  across 
it  shone  from  the  shaft-houses  of  the  Led-Horse 
and  Shoshone  mines,  between  which,  it  was 
said,  there  was  open  suspicion  on  the  one  side 
and  bad  faith  on  the  other. 


16  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 


II. 

THE  TURNING  OF  A  WINDLASS. 

ONE  August  morning  of  the  cool,  autumnal 
summer,  a  lady,  younger  than  the  youngest 
of  the  youthful  wives  of  the  camp,  whose 
pure,  unsunned  complexion  proved  her  but 
lately  arrived,  rode  down  into  Led-Horse 
Gulch  from  the  Shoshone  side,  and,  following 
the  trail  upward  among  the  aspens,  drew  rein 
at  the  mouth  of  a  small  shaft  where  two  men 
were  working  a  windlass. 

She  wore  no  habit ;  the  plaited  skirt  of  her 
cloth  walking-dress  permitted  her  stirrup-foot 
to  show,  and  a  wide-brimmed  straw  hat  shaded 
the  heightened  bloom  in  her  cheek.  There 
was  an  unpremeditation  in  her  dress,  and  in 
the  vagrant  gait  of  her  pony,  which  might 
have  accounted  for  this  aimless  halt  at  the 
top  of  the  shaft. 

She  watched,  with  idle  interest,  the  taut, 
wavering  rope,  as  it  coiled  on  the  windlass. 


THE   TURNING   OF  A    WINDLASS.     17 

The  men  were  hoisting  a  loaded  bucket.  She 
appeared  indifferent  to  their  respectfully  curi 
ous  glances  ;  they  were  classified  in  her  mind 
as  part  of  the  novel  human  machinery  of  the 
place.  She  had  a  dimly  appreciative  eye  for 
the  fine  curves  of  their  powerful  backs,  as 
they  leaned  and  recovered  with  the  circling 
cranks  that  creaked  with  their  weight ;  other 
wise  they  were  not  present  to  her  conscious 
ness.  From  her  saddle  she  could  not  look 
far  down  into  the  dark  hole  and  see  the 
bucket,  just  visible  one  moment,  then  enlarg 
ing  rapidly  with  the  shortening  rope ;  nor 
could  she  perceive  that  it  was  loaded,  not  with 
precious  ores,  but  with  a  bulk  of  that  common 
human  clay  of  which  we  are  all  but  metamor- 
phic  variations.  She  was,  in  fact,  less  inter 
ested  in  the  thing  coming  up  than  in  the 
curiously  fatalistic  manner  of  its  coming.  The 
wavering  rope  described  a  shorter  and  shorter 
circle  ;  its  vibrations  ended  with  a  sharp  shud 
der  ;  a  few  more,  slower  turns  of  the  crank, 
and  the  man  had  arrived  at  the  surface. 

Swinging  himself,  with  a  practised  motion, 
from  the  bucket  to  a  seat  on  the  collar  of  the 
shaft,  he  looked  across  at  the  young  girl  with 
2 


18  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

undisguised  admiration.  The  look  recalled 
her  at  once  from  the  vague,  impersonal  mood 
of  her  ride. 

The  men  at  the  cranks  let  the  bucket  down 
with  a  run,  straightened  their  backs,  and 
wiped  their  damp  foreheads  and  necks. 

The  unembarrassed  youth  who  rose  to  his 
feet,  taking  off  his  hat  with  a  bright,  interroga 
tive  smile,  was  also  a  part  of  the  human  ma 
chinery  of  the  place,  but  his  part  in  relation 
to  the  miners  at  the  cranks  was  that  of  the 
throttle-valve  rather  than  the  driving-wheels. 

The  girl  acknowledged  his  salute  by  a  hot 
blush  and  the  slightest  of  bows,  as  she  turned 
her  horse's  head  sharply  away  from  the  shaft. 
Her  position  in  the  face  of  this  new  element 
had  become  untenable,  and  she  abandoned  it 
frankly,  making  no  attempt  to  explain  the 
unexplainable.  It  was  not  her  custom  (so  she 
indignantly  apostrophized  her  girl's  wounded 
dignity)  to  be  riding  about  the  camp  alone, 
and  waiting  at  prospect-holes  for  handsome 
young  men  to  be  hoisted  out  of  them  !  It  was 
an  incongruous  accident  of  that  incongruous 
place ! 

She  had,  even  with  her  small  knowledge  of 


THE   TURNING   OF  A    WINDLASS.     19 

young  men,  perceived  this  one's  quality  in  his 
face  and  manner ;  but  she  suffered  from  the 
youthful  conviction  that  her  own  personality 
must  remain  inevitably  at  the  mercy  of  the 
moment's  accidental  disguise. 

Guiding  her  horse  confusedly  over  the  bro 
ken  ground,  she  was  startled  by  a  peremptory 
shout  from  behind  her. 

"  Look  out  there,  Abrams !   The  old  shaft ! " 

A  miner  coming  up  the  hill,  warned  by  the 
shout,  promptly  caught  her  horse's  bridle,  and 
forced  him  back  from  a  sunken  space  of  fresh 
earth  and  stones. 

The  young  man  who  had  given  the  timely 
order  was  now  at  her  side.  He  picked  up  her 
whip.  The  hat  he  lifted  as  he  offered  it  was 
a  very  bad  one,  but  the  head  it  did  its  best 
to  disfigure  might  have  been  modelled  for  the 
head  of  a  young  Jason  at  the  time  his  per 
sonal  appearance  did  him  such  good  service 
at  the  court  of  King  ^Eetes. 

"  In  another  second  you  would  have  been 
thrown.  This  is  an  old  prospect-hole  filled 
with  loose  earth.  Your  horse  would  have  sunk 
in  it  to  his  knees,"  he  protested,  in  answer  to 
her  look  of  vexed  surprise. 


20  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  I  wonder  my  brother  permits  such  a  trap  to 
be  uncovered,"  the  girl  said,  with  the  empha 
sis  of  one  who  finds  unexpected  relief  in  an 
other's  responsibility  for  an  awkward  situation. 

"  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  your 
brother  —  but  the  Led-Horse,  I  believe,  has 
only  one  superintendent," -- he  took  off  his 
hat  again  with  a  gayly  ironical  bow — "  who 
is  at  your  service,  if  you  will  please  to  com- 
mand  him." 

"  Am  I  not  on  Shoshone  ground  ? "  The 
question  was  half  an  assertion. 

"  I  think  not.  The  location  stakes  follow 
the  gulch,  a  little  on  this  side  of  it.  You  are 
now  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  within 
the  Led-Horse  lines." 

The  young  girl  could  not  help  smiling  at 
her  own  discomfiture,  when  it  had  reached 
this  point.  She  hoped  the  superintendent  of 
the  Led-Horse  would  pardon  her  for  trespass 
ing,  and  for  criticising  his  management. 

The  superintendent  of  the  Led-Horse  gal 
lantly  replied  that  he  could  not  allow  her  to 
call  her  visit  a  trespass,  and  if  she  liked  to 
ride  over  his  prospect-holes,  he  would  have 
them  all  boarded  over  in  that  hope. 


THE   TURNING   OF  A    WINDLASS.       21 

She  made  no  reply  to  this  somewhat  derisive 
suggestion,  and  her  host  of  the  Led-Horse 
kept  the  silence  penitently,  as  he  walked  at 
her  side  through  the  flickering  aspens. 

When  they  had  crossed  the  gulch,  he  as 
sured  her  that  she  was  now  unmistakably  on 
Shoshone  ground,  and  they  parted,  with  a 
slightly  exaggerated  gravity  on  both  sides. 

He  watched  her  climbing  the  hill  among 
the  pine  trunks  that  rose  rigidly  above  the 
fringe  of  "  quaking  aspens."  Her  light  figure 
bent  and  swayed  with  her  horse's  strong  up 
ward  strides.  On  the  hill-top  it  was  outlined 
a  moment  against  the  fervent  blue  of  the  mid 
day  sky,  and  then  sank  out  of  sight  on  the 
other  side. 

The  young  superintendent  now  turned  his 
attention,  with  a  reflected  interest,  on  himself. 
He  looked  himself  over,  in  his  close-buttoned 
pea-jacket,  and  leggings,  buckled  to  his  knees, 
with  the  cheerful  unconcern  of  a  man  who  is 
well  aware  that  no  tailor's  measurements  car 
altogether  frustrate  those  of  nature,  at  hex 
best. 

Had  Hilgard  been  born  ten  or  fifteen  years 
sooner,  he  might  have  won  more  honor  in 


22  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

the  camps  and  fields  of  the  civil  war,  than 
he  was  likely  to  gain  in  frontier  mining- 
camps.  He  would  have  been  the  idol  of  his 
men,  the  life  of  his  mess,  —  a  leader  of  for 
lorn  hopes  and  desperate  charges.  His  rich- 
blooded  beauty  would  have  wrung  the  hearts 
of  susceptible  maidens,  marking  him  in  the 
ranks  of  those  about  to  die,  when  the  regi 
ments  for  the  front  marched  by  in  farewell 
pomp.  Like  the  plume  of  Navarre,  it  would 
have  blazed  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  and 
would  have  been  quenched,  perhaps,  on  one 
of  those  reefs  of  the  dead,  which  showed, 
after  the  battle,  where  the  wildest  shocks  of 
assault  had  met  the  sternest  resistance.  It 
would  have  marked  him  a  victim  without 
blemish,  fit  for  the  sacrifice. 

But  in  the  less  heroic  time  in  which  his  lot 
was  cast,  and  in  a  crude  community  of  trans 
planted  lives,  adjusting  themselves  to  new 
conditions,  Hilgard's  excess  of  good  looks 
was  a  positive  inconvenience.  The  camp,  at 
that  period  of  its  existence,  took  more  thought 
for  its  roots  than  its  blossoms.  Hilgard's 
splendid  efflorescence  was  looked  upon  with 
a  certain  suspicion  by  the  sturdy,  masculine 


THE  TURNING  OF  A   WINDLASS.      23 

growths  around  him.  Ugly  men  who  relied 
upon  their  fruits,  and  felt  that  nature  had 
disguised  them,  were  not  likely  to  enjoy  it. 
Men  with  a  small  personal  vanity  of  their 
own  resented  it,  as  a  form  of  insolence,  in 
their  fellow-man.  It  attracted  all  the  bale 
ful  types  of  womanhood,  while  many  of  the 
feminine  bulwarks  of  respectability  in  the 
camp  regarded  it  askance  as  an  apotheosis 
of  the  physical  life.  Not  a  few  of  these  ladies, 
especially  those  whose  own  personal  attrac 
tions  were  not  conspicuous,  honestly  doubted 
if  the  virtues  of  faithfulness  and  self-denial 
could  be  found  in  conjunction  with  a  lively 
eye-beam,  a  short  upper  lip,  a  head  easily 
erect  above  a  pair  of  powerful  shoulders,  and 
an  exuberance  of  color  and  movement  ex 
pressive  of  much  unused  vitality.  Whatever 
general  foundation  there  may  be  for  such  a 
prejudice,  the  picturesque  theories  current  in 
the  camp  reconciling  it,  in  Hilgard's  case, 
with  his  isolated  life  and  obvious  indifference 
to  the  social  allurements  around  him,  were 
far  from  the  prosaic  truth. 

Hilgard's  life  was  as  simple  and  severe  in 
its  routine  as  if  nature  had  clothed  his  soul 


24  TUE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

in  sackcloth  instead  of  purple.  It  had  one 
immediate  object,  —  the  prosperity  of  the 
Led-Horse,  —  to  which  he  considered  himself 
pledged.  There  was  another  object,  more 
remote,  but  more  vital  and  permanent :  the 
education  of  his  two  half-brothers,  —  young 
lads  left  to  his  sole  care  by  the  death  of  both 
father  and  mother.  Hilgard's  own  education 
had  been  at  the  mercy  of  the  sad  breaks  in 
the  lives  of  those  who  had  watched  over  it. 
He  was  often  lonely,  as  the  captain  of  a  bark 
on  a  long  cruise  is  lonely  in  mid-ocean,  —  but 
he  was  in  no  doubt  about  his  course.  He 
was  not  restless  from  uncertainty  of  purpose. 
He  had  a  fine,  youthful  scorn  of  sudden  love, 
or  any  sentiment  bordering  on  it.  It  was  his 
lonely  life,  perhaps,  which  gave  such  promi 
nence  in  his  thoughts  to  the  small  incident  of 
the  morning.  He  would  hardly  have  admitted 
that  it  was  anything  in  the  girl  herself.  Yet 
her  face  and  her  slender  figure,  undulating 
upward  to  the  sunny  hill-top,  were  still 
vividly  before  his  eyes.  He  had  the  keer 
instinct  about  women  which  men  lose  whet 
they  care  for  them  too  much.  All  his  la 
tent  reverence  and  ideality  had  responded  to 


THE   TURNING   OF  A    WINDLASS.       25 

the  look  in  her  eyes  as  they  had  rested  a  mo 
ment  on  his.  She  had  blushed,  but  with  a 
proud,  shy  girl's  disgust  at  a  false  position ; 
not  helplessly,  like  a  fool,  he  said  to  himself. 
Then  he  grew  hot,  thinking  of  his  own  care 
less  manner  to  her,  which  so  ill  expressed 
his  sense  of  her  difference  from  the  ordinary 
pretty  girl.  If  he  ever  saw  her  again  —  of 
course  he  would  see  her  again  !  She  was  his 
neighbor,  the  fair  Shoshone  —  Conrath's  sis 
ter,  whose  arrival  from  the  East  he  had  heard 
of  in  the  camp.  Surely  she  had  "  snatched 
a  grace  "  beyond  the  rules  of  kinship  ! 

A  fragment  of  a  Scotch  song,  long  silent 
in  his  memory,  woke  suddenly,  like  the  first 
bluebird's  note  in  spring.  All  the  songs  and 
scraps  of  poetry  in  which  his  vagrant  moods 
had  been  wont  to  find  expression,  had  been 
locked  in  the  frosty  constriction  of  his  new 
and  perplexing  responsibilities  :  — 

"  O  lassie  ayont  the  hill, 
Come  ower  the  tap  o'  the  hill ! 
Come  ower  the  tap,  wi'  the  breeze  o'  the  hill,"— 

he  hummed  to  himself,  as  he  strode  through 
the  aspens  that  shivered  in  the  sunshine. 


26  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

The  smooth-stemmed  aspens  themselves  were 
not  more  daintily,  slenderly  rounded,  or  more 
unobstrusive  in  their  clear,  cool  colors.  Hil- 
gard  did  not  like  showy  girls.  He  held,  with 
most  young  men,  very  positive  opinions  as  to 
the  kind  of  girl  he  liked,  when  in  reality  it 
was  quality,  not  kind,  that  interested  him. 

"  Con,  my  boy ! "  he  recklessly  apostro 
phized  his  troublesome  neighbor,  "  you  Ve  got 
my  ore  in  your  ore-bins,  but  if  it  came  to  a 
settlement  for  damages,  there  is  metal  of 
yours  that  is  more  attractive  !  " 

The  next  instant  he  rebuked  himself  for 
his  profanity.  His  spirits  were  rising  into 
rebellious  gayety,  animated  by  the  dramatic 
implacability  of  the  circumstances  that  hedged 
in  his  lovely  foewoman.  He  laughed  aloud, 
thinking  of  the  innocent  audacity  with  which 
she  had  crossed  the  contested  line,  and  waited 
for  him  at  the  top  of  his  own  shaft. 

But  the  mood  did  not  long  abide  with  him. 
The  first  bluebird's  note  is  an  uncertain  har 
binger  of  spring. 

As  he  climbed  the  trail  to  his  own  side  of 
the  gulch  and  looked  across  to  the  Shoshone's 
shaft-houses,  its  new  ore-sheds,  the  procession 


THE   TURNING   OF  A   WINDLASS.       27 

of  ore-teams  loading  at  the  dumps,  and  all  its 
encroaching  activities  in  full  play,  and  then 
reviewed  his  own  empty  bins  and  barren 
underground  pastures,  the  color  of  romance 
died  out  of  the  prospect. 

He  walked  back  to  his  office,  and  took  up 
a  package  of  letters  from  his  desk.  The  one 
from  the  president  of  his  company  he  opened 
first.  It  was  an  order  to  shut  down ! 


28  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 


III. 

THE  SITUATION. 

THE  Led-Horse  had  a  somewhat  dubious 
reputation  in  mining  circles.  The  generally 
unsatisfactory  condition  of  its  affairs  might 
have  been  described  in  the  words  of  a  clever 
man's  impromptu  abstract  of  life,  — "  Too 
poor  to  pay,  too  rich  to  quit." 

It  had  opened  brilliantly,  on  a  promising 
vein  which  had  been  "  stoped  out "  to  a  con 
siderable  depth,  and  then  had  become  sud 
denly  barren.  The  ore-bearing  rock  was 
there,  precisely  similar  in  character  to  that 
which  had  yielded  two  hundred  ounces  of 
silver  to  the  ton,  but  the  silver  was  not 
there. 

The  expenses  of  the  mine  rapidly  turned 
its  balance  the  wrong  way.  There  were  calls 
from  the  home  office  for  retrenchment,  and 
appeals  for  money  from  the  mine.  Its  con 
dition  was  that  of  a  young  man  who  has 


THE  SITUATION.  29 

spent  a  small  patrimony  without  having  fitted 
himself  for  earning  his  own  living.  It  was 
altogether  probable  that  the  capacity  for 
earning  a  living  was  there,  but  it  had  become 
necessary  that  no  time  should  be  lost  in 
developing  it. 

There  was  a  change  in  the  management, 
even  as  the  young  man,  in  his  altered  circum 
stances,  turns  from  the  counsellors  of  his  days 
of  extravagance,  to  others,  better  acquainted 
with  hard  work  and  economy.  At  this  junc 
ture,  Hilgard  had  been  sent  out  with  a  few 
thousands  to  expend  in  enabling  the  Led- 
Horse  to  support  himself,  and,  if  possible,  to 
lay  up  money  in  dividends  ;  but  the  dividends 
were,  as  yet,  a  long  way  in  the  future. 

Hilgard  had  had  four  years'  practical  ex 
perience  in  mines,  but  this  was  his  first  essay 
in  management.  He  was  well  aware  that  he 
was  making  it  under  great  disadvantages. 
He  could  not  put  ore  into  a  barren  vein,  and 
a  prolonged  period  of  unproductive  expen 
diture  in  prospecting  for  ore  would,  in  the 
event  of  not  finding  any,  count  heavily  against 
him  in  his  opening  career.  It  was  inevitable 
that  the  manager  of  a  mine  should  be  con- 


30  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

sidered  successful  according  to  his  fulfilment 
of  the  hopes  of  the  owners ;  especially  when 
the  owners  were  half  the  width  of  the  con 
tinent  away,  and  generally  ignorant  of  the 
conditions  which  affect  success  in  the  man 
agement  of  mines. 

The  Shoshone  had  been  in  barren  rock  for 
many  months.  It  had  small  capital  and  less 
credit,  when,  a  short  time  after  Hilgard's 
management  began,  a  sudden  change  took 
place  in  the  aspect  of  its  affairs.  At  the 
change  of  shifts,  a  daily  increasing  number  of 
men  were  seen  around  its  shaft-houses ;  new 
ore-sheds  were  put  up ;  its  long  unused  wagon- 
roads  became  deeply  rutted  by  the  heavy  ore- 
teams  going  and  returning  from  the  smelters, 
and  a  rumor  pervaded  the  camp  that  the  lucky 
Shoshones  had  "  struck  it  away  up  in  the 
hundreds,"  and  were  shipping  ore  at  the  rate 
of  fifty  tons  a  day. 

Soon  after  the  Shoshone's  prosperity  be 
came  evident,  West,  the  mining-captain  of  the 
Led-Horse,  communicated  to  his  chief  his 
suspicion  that  the  Shoshone  strike  had  been 
made  on  Led-Horse  ground.  From  the  lower 
drifts,  the  sounds  which  came,  through  the 


THE  SITUATION.  31 

intervening  rock,  from  the  new  Shoshone 
workings,  indicated,  to  an  experienced  ear, 
that  they  had  crossed  the  boundary  line  be 
tween  the  claims. 

Hilgard  had  proposed  to  Conrath,  the 
superintendent  of  the  Shoshone,  that  a  survey 
should  be  made  through  the  Shoshone  drifts, 
but  at  the  expense  of  the  Led-Horse>  to  prove 
that  the  boundary  line  was  intact.  He  put 
the  whole  matter  lightly,  as  a  possible  mistake 
which  either  party  might  have  made.  Con- 
rath  took  it  by  no  means  lightly.  He  even 
appeared  to  seize  upon  it  as  an  occasion  for 
giving  expression  to  a  latent  feeling  of  antag 
onism  toward  Hilgard,  which  the  latter  had 
not  been  entirely  unconscious  of.  Conrath 
refused  to  admit  the  possibility  of  his  having 
crossed  the  line,  or  to  permit  any  one  to 
explore  the  Shoshone  workings  for  any  pur 
pose  whatever.  This  unexpected  irritability 
on  the  subject  could  but  increase  Hilgard's 
suspicions.  The  sounds  through  the  rock, 
which  had  been  at  first  very  faint,  having 
become,  day  by  day,  more  distinct,  Hilgard 
had  started  his  defensive  drift  in  the  direction 
of  these  sounds. 


32  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

The  Led-Horse  had  not  as  yet  achieved  its 
independence  of  Eastern  capital.  The  few 
thousands  which  had  been  subscribed  at  the 
beginning  of  Hilgard's  management  had  been 
spent  in  "  prospecting,"  with  no  result  as  yet, 
except  a  little  low-grade  ore  and  "  favorable 
indications."  The  small  working  force  of  the 
mine  had  been  concentrated  upon  the  defensive 
drift,  which  was  in  barren  rock. 

At  this  juncture,  while  the  mine  was  depend 
ent  on  its  monthly  drafts  from  the  East,  the 
last  of  these  drafts  came  back  dishonored. 

It  was  a  time  of  bitter  excitement  to  Hil- 
gard.  Already  the  unfortunate  Led-Horse, 
with  its  hopes  and  its  reverses,  had  become 
to  him  almost  like  some  living  thing  in  his 
care.  It  was  more  than  a  feeling  of  pride  in 
his  work  —  it  was  a  passionate  personification 
of  it,  —  more  especially  since  he  had  been  beset 
by  treachery  without,  as  well  as  by  poverty 
within.  Hilgard  was  experiencing  the  well- 
known  effect  of  isolation  and  responsibility 
upon  a  concentrated  nature  cut  off  from 
those  varied  outlets  for  its  energy  which  the 
life  of  cities  and  large  communities  affords. 
He  wrote  long,  passionate  letters  on  the  situa- 


THE  SITUATION.  33 

tion  to  the  home  office,  where  they  awoke 
trouble  and  perplexity  in  the  mind  of  the 
anxious  president,  but  failed  materially  to 
alter  the  situation. 

It  was  during  the  sultry  weather  of  early 
September  when  these  vehement  appeals  from 
the  desperate  executive  in  the  West  poured  in 
on  the  worried  administration  in  the  East. 

The  Led-Horse  proudly  boasted  in  its  pros 
pectuses  that  its  stock  was  "  non-assessable." 
The  men  who  held  it  were  engaged  in  larger 
schemes,  which  made  the  fate  of  the  Led- 
Horse  of  comparatively  little  consequence. 
They  were  scattered  far  and  wide ;  on  board 
yachts,  at  remote  fishing  and  hunting  grounds, 
at  watering-places,  at  home  and  abroad.  To 
hold  a  timely  meeting  of  stockholders  under 
these  circumstances  would  have  puzzled  the 
most  active  administration. 

It  was  undeniable  that,  beyond  the  office 
which  bore  its  name,  the  crisis  in  the  affairs 
of  the  Led-Horse  made  not  even  a  ripple  on 
the  "  street." 

"  A  draft  for  two  thousand,  promptly,  will 
save  us  !  "  Hilgard  wrote.  "  Another  week 
will  drive  the  drift  through  to  the  Shoshone 
3 


34  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

workings,  then  we  can  put  up  a  barricade  — 
shut  down  —  and  go  into  court  with  a  clear 
case." 

The  president  trusted,  in  his  reply,  that 
the  "barricade"  would  be  unnecessary.  He 
deprecated  any  manifestation  in  the  direction 
of  expected  or  intended  violence.  The  law 
alone  could  decide  these  points,  and  with  this 
ultimate  decision  in  view  he  advised  that  an 
injunction  be  got  out  against  the  suspected 
parties,  and  evidence  collected  to  support  it, 
while  he,  in  the  East,  would  do  his  best  to 
provide  money  for  conducting  the  subsequent 
suit  for  damages.  For  the  payment  of  the 
running  expenses,  Hilgard  must  absolutely 
rely  on  his  own  resources,  or  else  shut  down. 
The  president  concluded  by  adjuring  him  to 
satisfy  himself  that  his  suspicion  was  correct 
before  taking  any  steps  in  regard  to  an  in 
junction. 

Hilgard  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  He  was 
mentally  replying  to  the  letter  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

"  The  '  resources '  I  am  to  depend  on  are  in 
the  hands  of  the  Shoshones,  —  the  proof  of 
my  <  suspicion '  is  there,  —  the  evidence  for 


THE  SITUATION.  35 

the  injunction  is  there,  —  the  question  is  how 
am  I  to  get  there !  "  He  pushed  his  chair 
back  impatiently.  "  Can't  they  understand 
that  it 's  impossible  to  shut  down  with  a  gang 
of  men  unpaid  ! " 

It  had  taken  a  week  for  his  first  pro 
test  against  the  order  to  reach  the  office ; 
two  weeks  for  repeated  letters  to  make,  so 
it  seemed,  any  impression  on  that  far-off  East 
to  which  he  looked  for  succor.  After  three 
weeks  of  waiting  the  reply  had  come,  and  it 
had  brought  him  only  into  closer  contact  with 
a  growing  dread,  —  a  dread  of  the  final  resort 
to  those  wild  counsels  of  primitive  justice, 
from  which  he  felt  the  strong  recoil  which 
marks  the  passage  from  irresponsible  boyhood 
to  manhood. 

The  first  overt  act  was  before  him  which 
would  bring  him  into  sharp  personal  contact 
with  Conrath.  The  act  was  now  become  inev 
itable,  and  whether  the  truth  of  his  suspicion 
were  proved  by  it  or  not,  the  hostility  on  Con- 
rath's  part  would  follow  with  certainty. 

He  went  out  into  the  cool  starlight  and 
walked  about  on  the  bare  space  of  trodden 
earth  outside  his  office-door. 


36  THE  LED-HOESE   CLAIM. 

At  sunset  the  restless  winds,  whirling  in  a 
dervish-like  dance  along  the  highways  of  the 
camp,  scattering  straws  and  chips  and  scraps 
of  paper,  and  sinking  as  suddenly  as  they 
rose,  in  abject  heaps  of  dust  by  the  roadside, 
had  fainted  and  died  away,  as  if  their  souls 
had  departed  in  the  soft  breeze  that  wan 
dered,  soughing,  up  the  gulch. 

Sounds  of  music  floated  up  from  the  camp, 
where  it  sparkled  like  a  restless  reflection  of 
the  night  sky  in  the  dark  valley  below.  The 
lights  in  the  two  shaft-houses  burned  warily, 
eye  to  eye,  across  the  gulch. 

"  0  lassie  ay  out  the  hill ! " — the  words  which 
had  fitfully  recurred  in  his  mind  through  its 
late  preoccupations,  came  back  now  with  a 
wistful  note.  The  sweet  lassie  had  kept  on 
her  own  side  of  the  hill,  and  he  had  never 
gone  over  to  find  her.  He  had  never  seen 
her  since  she  had  vanished  below  the  sun- 
illumined  hill-top. 

Where  was  she  to-night  ?  —  dancing  at  the 
ball  of  the  "  Younger  Sons,"  perhaps,  to  that 
music  which  came  faintly  to  his  ear, — or  alone, 
in  the  hostile  Shoshone  camp  ?  Conrath  had 
gone  over  the  range  two  days  ago.  Hb  liked 


THE   SITUATION.  37 

better  to  think  of  her  alone,  though  it  could 
be  no  part  of  his  to  comfort  her.  Somehow 
he  did  not  find  the  dramatic  nature  of  the  situ 
ation  as  exhilarating  as  it  had  seemed  on  the 
day  of  her  innocent  invasion. 

He  went  down  the  hill  to  a  little  cabin  built 
against  its  steepest  side,  where  West  sat  by 
his  fire,  moodily  smoking  and  communing  with 
himself,  after  the  manner  of  lonely  men. 

He  was  a  slenderly  built,  wiry  man,  of  about 
thirty,  with  a  nervous  mouth  and  a  quiet  blue 
eye,  which  could  kindle  quickly,  as  it  did  now 
at  the  sound  of  Hilgard's  step  and  his  bright, 
authoritative  voice.  He  got  up  and  gave  his 
only  chair  to  his  young  chief,  drawing  forward 
an  empty  powder-keg  and  seating  himself  on 
its  inverted  bottom.  Hilgard  lit  a  cigarette 
and  sat  down  astride  of  the  chair  with  his 
arms  across  the  back.  Both  men  glowered  at 
the  fire  in  silence. 

"  A  letter  came  from  the  *  Old  Man '  to 
day,"  Hilgard  presently  said.  "  It 's  no  use, 
West.  The  thing  is  narrowing  down  to  just 
this,  —  we  've  got  to  get  into  the  Shoshone 
workings." 

West  looked  up  quickly. 


38  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  If  Conrath  won't  go  over  the  ground  with 
us,  we  must  go  over  it  alone,  and  take  the  risk 
of  his  catching  us  in  there." 

West  smoked  hard  for  a  minute. 

"  I  could  have  got  in  there  long  ago,  sir,  if 
you  'd  said  the  word." 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  say  the  word  !  It 's  an 
ugly  thing  to  do,  —  creeping  about  another 
man's  mine  to  find  out  if  he  's  a  thief  and  a 
liar ! " 

"  Gash  can  lie ;  he 's  an  old  hand  at  this 
game.  He  made  his  boast  in  Deadwood 
that  he  could  always  find  plenty  of  ore  as 
long  as  his  neighbors  had  any.  It 's  like  as 
not  he 's  fooled  Conrath  all  through.  When 
he  struck  that  streak  of  ore  he  could  n't  keep 
from  followin'  it,  any  more  'n  you  kin  keep 
a  hound  off  a  bear-track.  When  shall  I  get 
in  there,  sir  ? " 

"  You  're  not  going  in,  West.  I  '11  have  a 
surveyor  up  from  the  camp  to  run  the  end  line 
across,  and  get  the  distance  to  the  Shoshone 
shaft ;  then  I  '11  get  underground,  somehow, 
with  a  pocket  compass." 

"  You  'd  better  let  me  go  down,  sir." 

"It  can't  be  done  that  way.     I've  got  to 


THE  SITUATION.  39 

give  my  affidavit  to  get  out  the  injunction  on. 
Then  we  '11  drive  that  drift  through,  till  we 
can  swear  what  ground  we  're  on  !  " 

"  It 's  a  good  time  to  go  in  now,  sir.  Con- 
rath  's  over  the  range,  and  Gash  has  been  on 
a  spree.  He  won't  be  underground  to-morrow, 
anyhow.  How  much  time  would  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  go  in  until  Conrath  is  back." 
Hilgard  had  risen  and  stood  before  the  fire, 
his  head  well  lifted,  his  cigarette  burning  out 
in  his  fingers. 

"  I  think  you  might 's  well  take  your  chance, 
sir.  He  'd  do  it  with  you,  quick  enough.  It 's 
no  fool  of  a  job  you  're  undertaking  Mr.  Hil 
gard." 

"  I  know  it,  West ;  but,  if  I  do  it  at  all,  I  Ve 
got  to  do  it  my  own  way  —  not  Conrath's  way, 
or  Gashwiler's.  I  '11  take  my  chances*  with 
Conrath  on  the  ground." 


40  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 


IV. 

THE  YOUNGER  SONS*  BALL. 

THE  "  Younger  Sons  "  celebrated  their  fort 
nightly  ball  that  evening  in  the  dining-room 
of  the  Colonnade  House ;  the  only  suggestion 
of  a  Colonnade  in  connection  with  the  house 
being  the  row  of  hitching-posts  embedded  in 
the  dried  mud  of  the  street  before  it. 

The  "Younger  Sons"  was  a  select  bachelor 
club,  of  the  highest  social  aspirations.  The 
sons  were  not  all  in  their  first  youth.  Some  of 
them,  it  is  to  be  feared,  had  known  moments 
which  were  not  those  of  aspiration ;  but,  as 
sons  go,  they  represented  a  tolerable  filial 
average.  There  might  have  been  something 
deprecatory  in  the  modest  title  they  had 
chosen ;  at  all  events,  they  had  found  favor 
with  the  indulgent  mothers  of  the  camp,  who 
accepted  their  invitations,  and  danced  with 
them  at  the  fortnightly  ball,  with  the  assumed 
approbation  of  the  fathers. 


THE    YOUNGER   SONS'  BALL.         41 

Hilgard  could  have  been  a  "  Younger  Son  " 
had  he  desired.  He  had  complimentary  tick 
ets  sent  him  for  the  dances,  for  which  un 
usual  attention  he  was  indebted  to  feminine, 
if  not  to  maternal,  influence.  Men  were  at 
a  discount  on  these  occasions.  They  stood 
about  in  one  another's  way,  and  trod  on  one 
another's  toes,  against  the  wall,  in  a  dreary, 
superfluous  manner,  which  would  have  touched 
the  sympathies  of  women  not  already  over 
burdened  with  masculine  claimants  for  them. 
Hilgard,  having  been  gratuitously  chosen  as 
an  object  of  feminine  sympathy,  would  doubt 
less  not  have  been  sent  to  the  wall ;  but 
heretofore  he  had  been  an  unresponsive  and 
ungrateful  object.  He  had  given  away  his 
ball-tickets,  and  his  dress-suit  had  remained 
folded  in  the  bottom  of  his  trunk.  To-night, 
however,  at  half-past  nine  o'clock,  a  visitor 
who  stepped  in  out  of  the  fresh  night-air 
found  him  sitting  at  his  office-desk,  in  full 
evening  costume,  writing  telegrams. 

It  was  a  young  lawyer  of  Hilgard's  ac 
quaintance,  who,  after  a  careless  greeting, 
regarding  him  critically  from  a  comfortable 
vantage  in  front  of  the  fire,  remarked,  — 


42  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  Rather  more  style  than  the  occasion  calls 
for,  but  you  will  do  very  well." 

"  What  occasion  ?  "  Hilgard  inquired,  fold 
ing  his  telegrams. 

"A  snug  little  supper  at  Archer's.  It's 
rather  late  to  ask  you :  fact  is,  you  were  n't 
included  in  the  first  deal.  I  asked  Pitt  to 
meet  two  Chicago  men,  just  in,  but  he's  gone 
back  on  me  at  the  last  minute.  Have  you 
got  something  else  on  hand  ?" 

"  I  'm  going  to  the  Prodigals'."  This  was  the 
painful  perversion  which  the  title  of  "  Younger 
Sons  "  had  suffered,  in  unfraternal  circles  of 
the  camp.  "  I  'm  getting  rather  sick  of  this 
crawling  about  underground.  It 's  a  comfort 
to  stretch  one's  legs,  and  get  on  a  suit  of 
clothes  that  isn't  decorated  in  relief  with 
candle-grease." 

"  Come  and  stretch  your  legs  under  Arch 
er's  hospitable  board ;  you  won't  find  any  use 
for  them  at  the  Prodigals !  You  can't  get  a 
partner  at  this  hour.  Every  card  in  the  room 
is  full." 

"  I  may  not  dance,  but  I'm  going.  Shall  I 
send  you  a  substitute  ?  " 

"  If  you  can  find  me  a  good  one ;  but  you  'd 


THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL.    43 

much  better  come  yourself  and  eat  some 
trout.  The  Chicago  men  will  think  from 
your  get-up  that  Led-Horse  stock  is  booming. 
I  won't  tell  them  your  ore  is  chiefly  in  the 
Shoshone  bins." 

As  the  legal  counsel  for  the  Led-Horse, 
intimately  acquainted  with  its  difficulties,  Wil 
kinson  might  have  been  pardoned  this  jest; 
but  Hilgard  flushed,  as  he  replied,  — 

"  My  get-up  was  not  furnished  by  the  Led- 
Horse.  There  is  not  much  of  the  boy  left 
in  me,  but  I'm  going  to  give  what  there  is 
a  chance  to-night.  To-morrow  — "  He  re 
pented,  apparently,  of  having  begun  the  sen 
tence,  and  left  it  frankly  unfinished,  lifting  his 
head  and  following  with  his  eyes  a  ring  of 
smoke  that  floated  upward  to  the  ceiling. 

"  To-morrow,  you  '11  bid  good-by  to  youth  for- 
evermore,  eh?"  Wilkinson  remarked,  eying 
the  young  superintendent  with  some  amuse 
ment.  "  You  're  expecting  your  gray  hairs  by 
the  next  stage  ? " 

"I'm  expecting  Conrath  by  the  next  stage. 
He  is  doing  his  best  to  promote  my  gray 
hairs." 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  with  your  testi 
mony  ? "  Wilkinson  inquired. 


44  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"I'm  going  to  hunt  up  some  to-morrow. 
Confound  it  all,  it 's  the  worst  mess  you  ever 
saw.  We  may  have  to  appeal  to  the  unwritten 
law,  after  all !  " 

"  That 's  what  you  're  doing  to-night,  is  n't 
it,  —  with  the  Prodigals'  ball  for  a  tribunal  ? 
Conrath,  I  take  it,  is  n't  the  defendant  in  this 
case ! " 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  retaining  you  for 
counsel,  Wilke,"  Hilgard  retorted.  "What 
time  is  your  supper  ?" 

"  Eleven,  sharp.  The  Chicago  men  want 
to  take  in  the  town  a  little  before  they  eat." 

The  two  young  men  rode  back  to  the  camp 
together,  and  separated  at  the  telegraph  office. 
Hilgard  did  not  enter  the  ball-room  at  once, 
but  reconnoitred  the  scene  from  the  office  of 
the  hotel,  which  communicated  with  it.  Those 
who  were  not  called  to  the  feast  were  apt  to 
congregate  here,  and  pick  up  a  few  festal 
crumbs  on  the  threshold. 

Hilgard  felt  roused  without  being  particu 
larly  happy.  He  was  not  analyzing  his  mood, 
or  his  right  to  dedicate  these  few  hours,  on 
the  eve  of  an  arduous  struggle,  to  his  personal 
claims.  He  was  simply  satisfying  himself  as 


THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL.     45 

to  whether  his  fair  neighbor  of  the  Shoshone 
persuasion  was  among  the  dancers.  Failing 
to  discover  her,  he  stepped  within  the  door 
way  for  a  better  view,  and  found  himself  just 
behind  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance,  who  was 
participating  in  the  old-fashioned  quadrille, 
then  in  progress.  He  was  about  to  change 
his  position  when  she  saw  him  and  began  to 
talk  to  him  in  the  pauses  of  her  facile  per 
formance. 

She  was  a  lively  little  matron,  whose  six 
months'  residence  in  the  camp  made  her  a 
veteran  in  its  society.  In  spite  of  a  childish 
face,  and  light,  inconsequent  manner,  she 
looked  no  longer  young.  The  subtle  change 
was  like  a  premature  blight  on  a  still  full- 
veined  flower.  Her  youthfully  rounded  cheek 
had  a  slightly  crumpled  texture,  and  her  eyes, 
of  the  blue  of  childhood,  were  too  widely, 
restlessly  expanded. 

44  What  has  brought  you  here  at  last,  you 
incorrigible  hermit  ?  Or  rather,  who  has 
brought  you  ?  You  have  not  deigned  to  come 
and  dance  with  us  married  ladies,  —  but  no 
sooner  "  —  she  was  "  balancing  "  to  one  of 
the  peripatetic  partners  in  "  Gentlemen  to  the 


46  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

left ! "  and  now  she  was  whirled  by  the  tips 
of  her  fingers,  and  finished  the  sentence,  look 
ing  at  Hilgard  over  her  shoulder  as  she  re 
ceived  the  advances  of  the  next  —  "  no  sooner 
do  we  boast  of  a  lovely  young  girl  from  the 
East,  but  you  are  here." 

She  whirled  with  Number  Two,  and  con 
tinued,  with  her  eyes  still  on  Hilgard,  as  she 
turned  to  Number  Three,  — 

"But  you  are  too  late  for  anything  but  an 
introduction.  It  serves  you  quite  right." 

Her  partner  now  seized  her  by  both  hands, 
and  she  was  swept  away  in  the  final  "  Prome 
nade  all ! " 

Hilgard  moved  on  among  the  ranks  of 
black- coated  wall-flowers,  but  encountered  her 
again  as  the  quadrille  broke  up.  She  slipped 
easily  from  her  late  partner's  arm  to  his,  and 
addressed  him  with  the  utmost  animation, 
which  yet  missed,  somehow,  the  full  accent 
of  gayety. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  to  introduce 
you?" 

"To  whom,  if  you  please?" 

"Ah,  what  a  fraud  you  are!  I  can  see 
your  eyes  wandering  about  everywhere  in 


THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL.    47 

search  of  her.  You  needn't  pretend  that  you 
don't  know  who  I  mean ! " 

"  I  suppose  you  are  talking  of  your  lovely 
young  girl  from  the  East, — but  how  am  I  to 
tell  her  from  the  married  ladies?"  said  Hil- 
gard,  gazing  around  in  mock  bewilderment. 

"That's  very  pretty  of  you,  Mr.  Hilgard. 
I  see  you  are  trying  to  make  your  peace  with 
me.  You  know  very  well  that  you  are  talk 
ing  to  her  chaperone." 

"Am  I,  indeed  ?"  Hilgard  exclaimed,  look 
ing  down  into  the  upturned  face  of  this  guar 
dian  of  inexperienced  youth.  "  What  a  fearful 
responsibility  !  You  look  quite  worn  with  it 
already !  Could  I  possibly  be  of  any  assist 
ance  to  you  in  your  duties  ?  " 

"  Not  the  very  least,  I  thank  you ;  I  have 
been  enthusiastically  assisted  already.  She's 
having  a  perfect  'ovation.'  I  must  say  she 
keeps  her  head  very  well  for  a  girl  who  has 
been  out  so  little." 

"Do  you  suppose  a  young  girl  from  the 
East  would  call  this  being  'out'?"  Hilgard 
asked,  indifferently.  He  was  quite  sure  .that 
Mrs.  Denny  could  not  possibly  be  the  chape- 
rone  of  the  young  girl  he  had  come  to  see, 


43  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

and  was  very  little  moved  by  this  picture  of 
her  as  a  successful  candidate  for  the  social 
honors  of  the  camp. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  would  call 
being  '  out,'  if  this  is  n't !  A  perfect  wealth 
of  partners,  and  so  cosmopolitan!  Why,  a 
girl  could  dance  with  a  man  from  every  State 
in  the  Union ! " 

Hilgard  had  never  felt  a  greater  distaste 
for  the  society  of  the  little  person  who  had 
so  freely  bestowed  herself  upon  him,  than 
to-night.  He  wondered  why  he  did  not  es 
cape  from  her.  There  was  a  fatality  about 
women  of  this  kind,  he  had  observed,  and 
vaguely  questioned  whether,  as  related  to 
social  brutality  in  man,  they  represented  cause 
or  effect. 

Mrs.  Denny  at  this  moment  leaned  from 
his  arm  with  a  smile  of  recognition  to  a  young 
lady  who  passed  them  with  the  circling  prom- 
enaders.  Her  complexion  exhibited  a  rather 
weather-beaten  fairness ;  her  dry,  lifeless  yel 
low  hair  covered  her  forehead  to  her  eye 
brows  ;  the  sleeves  of  her  black  satin  dress 
were  cut  very  high  on  the  shoulders,  giving 
her  the  appearance  of  a  perpetual  shrug. 


THE   YOUNGER   SONS'  BALL.         49 

Her  throat  and  wrists  were  painfully  small, 
and  the  hand  which  fluttered  a  passing  greet 
ing  with  her  fan,  had  a  meagre,  attenuated 
expression  in  pathetic  contrast  to  its  gay 
gesture. 

"Is  that  your  young  girl  from  the  East?" 
Hilgard  asked,  carelessly. 

"  Mercy,  no !  Lou  Palmer  came  from  the 
East  ten  years  ago  !  Lou  has  had  a  beautiful 
time,  but  she  begins  to  show  it  a  little." 

"  Is  a  <  beautiful  time '  so  disastrous  in  its 
effects?" 

"  Well,  perhaps  Lou  has  had  rather  too 
good  a  time,"  said  Mrs.  Denny,  with  a  reflec 
tive  air. 

"  Here  is  the  cynosure ! "  Hilgard  began, 
then  stopped,  lifting  his  head  with  a  quick, 
characteristic  movement,  and  nervously  touch 
ing  his  mustache.  In  the  presence  of  the 
girl  who  stood  before  him,  the  light  comment 
died  on  his  lips. 

The  little  crowd  of  "Younger  Sons,"  which 
had  indicated  the  force  of  some  central  at 
traction,  had  parted  suddenly,  allowing  the 
undoubted  object  of  their  homage  to  pass. 
She  had  apparently  distinguished  none  of 


50  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

them  with  her  favor,  and  her  eyes  had  rather 
a  dazed  absence  of  expression,  as  she  came 
toward  Mrs.  Denny. 

It  was  Conrath's  sister, — the  fair  Shoshone, 
in  the  white  shimmer  of  her  maiden  bravery  ; 
her  freshness  undimmed  by  the  warm,  dusty 
air  of  the  ball,  or  its  miscellaneous  homage  ! 

She  glanced  at  Hilgard  with  doubtful  rec 
ognition.  Then,  perceiving  the  identity  of 
this  splendid  youth  with  the  clay-covered 
knight  of  the  prospect-hole,  she  gave  him  a 
slight,  cold  greeting ;  too  cold  for  the  blush 
that  flamed,  like  a  danger-signal,  in  her 
cheek.  She  proudly  repudiated  the  traitor 
ous  color,  however,  and  met  his  brilliant  gaze 
a  moment,  quietly,  as  a  lady  may. 

"  I  need  not  introduce  you,  I  see,"  observed 
the  astute  chaperone.  "You  know  Mr.  Hil 
gard,  Miss  Conrath.  He  has  not  honored  our 
poor  little  dances  until  to-night.  You  must 
help  to  insure  his  coming  again." 

The  next  dance  was  forming  on  the  floor. 
Hilgard,  leaning  against  the  whitewashed  wall, 
reckless  of  his  black  coat,  found  himself  for 
getting  all  the  incongruities,  of  the  meeting  in 
the  satisfaction  it  gave  him.  It  was  incon- 


THE   YOUNGER   SONS1  BALL.          51 

celvable  that  she  should  be  there,  in  her  flow* 
erlike  brightness,  among  all  these  warped  or 
stale  humanities.  Conrath's  admiration  of 
Mrs.  Denny  was  no  secret  in  the  camp,  but 
that  he  should  expect  his  young  sister  to 
share  it  seemed  incredible.  It  was  more 
probable  that  he  had  sacrificed  his  sister's 
tastes  to  his  own. 

However,  there  she  was,  and  she  would  be 
there  but  a  moment !  Already,  her  partner 
for  the  dance  was  industriously  searching  for 
her  among  the  promenaders  and  the  groups 
along  the  wall.  Hilgard  made  use  of  his 
height  and  breadth  of  shoulder  to  defeat  this 
search  in  an  unobtrusive  way.  He  was  looking 
down  on  the  circle  of  lamplight  which  rested 
on  the  top  of  the  young  girl's  head,  crossed 
by  a  soft  line  of  shadow  where  the  maidenly 
parting  sank  out  of  sight.  The  drooping, 
rosy  face,  turned  a  little  away  from  him,  was 
in  shadow,  too,  and  the  small  ear,  innocent 
of  jewels,  glowed  as  pink  as  a  baby's,  warm 
from  the  pressure  of  the  pillow. 

Her  petulance  of  their  first  meeting,  when 
she  had  lost  her  equanimity  as  well  as  her 
way,  was  quite  gone;  the  shy  alarm  of  her 


52  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

late  greeting  had  also  changed  to  a  soft, 
prised  air  of  doubtful  confidence,  as  if  among 
the  many  alien  faces  around  her  she  had 
found  in  his,  so  lately  repelled,  an  unex 
pected,  bewildering  sympathy.  She  looked 
at  him  again  and  again,  with  the  brief,  won 
dering  glance  of  a  child  lost  in  a  crowd, 
whom  some  unknown  friend  has  taken  by  the 
hand. 

Hilgard  felt  suddenly,  deeply  sobered.  The 
excitement  in  his  blood,  which  had  been  gath 
ering  with  the  thickening  plot  of  his  troubles, 
—  which  had  driven  him  here  to-night,  —  cli 
maxed  suddenly  in  her  presence.  It  strung 
his  rich,  young  voice  to  the  lyric  pitch,  con 
trolled  by  the  effort  not  to  meet  too  eagerly 
her  hesitating  preference. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  like  a  triumph  of  this 
kind  as  much  as  most  girls  ?  "  he  asked  ;  and 
felt  at  once  that  the  question  was  half  ai? 
insult. 

"  Is  this  a  triumph  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  not  this,"  Hilgard  went  on  des 
perately,  with  too  keen  a  perception  of  the 
briefness  of  the  passing  moment,  "  but  what 
1  have  just  deprived  you  of." 


THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL.    53 

"Do  you  imagine  that  I  liked  that?"  look* 
ing  at  him  reproachfully. 

"  You  cannot  have  anything  better  than 
the  best  the  place  affords.  May  I  see  your 
card  a  moment?  I  shall  not  even  go  through 
the  form  of  asking  you  for  a  dance.  I  only 
want  to  satisfy  myself  that  you  really  have 
the  best."  He  detached  the  pendent  tassel 
from  her  bracelet,  where  it  had  caught. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  grave  peru 
sal,  "  it  is  a  proud  record  !  The  flower  of  the 
camp  have  hastened  to  enroll  themselves. 
I  should  have  been  too  late  an  hour  ago  ! " 

The  inevitable  partner  was  now  very  warm, 
indeed,  on  his  quest,  and  it  was  no  longer 
possible  to  frustrate  his  claims. 

Skirting  along  the  wall,  fanned  by  the  cir 
cling  wings  of  the  waltz,  Hilgard  joined  an 
acquaintance  seated  in  a  quiet  corner,  near 
the  door,  —  a  well-preserved  Younger  Son, 
with  a  fresh-colored  face  and  a  humorous, 
uncertain,  exaggerated  expression,  as  if  the 
facial  muscles  had  become  weakened  in  their 
action,  like  the  keys  of  a  long-used  piano. 
His  very  respectable  name  of  Thomas  God 
frey  had  been  for  many  years  ignored  gener- 


54  TEE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

ally  by  his  friends,  in  favor  of  the  gratuitous 
title  of  Doctor.  When  applied  to  him,  it 
became,  somehow,  a  familiar  and  affection 
ate,  rather  than  a  dignified,  sobriquet. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Hilgard,  "  do  you  want  to 
be  an  instrument  of  fate  to-night  ?  " 

"  Of  whose  fate,  George  ?  I  've  been  an 
instrument  of  my  own  fate  for  fifty  odd 
years  ;  —  the  result  does  n't  encourage  me  to 
meddle  with  anybody  else's." 

"You  haven't  been  passive  enough.  To 
night  there  is  a  chance  for  you  to  be  perfectly 
passive.  You  've  only  to  change  places  with  me 
for  a  few  hours,  —  or  let  me  change  with  you." 

"  Heaven  forbid ! "  Godfrey  interrupted. 
"  Do  you  call  that  being  passive  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  me.  It 's  a  better 
bargain  than  you  think.  I  'm  too  late  for  a 
dance,  but  you  can  have  my  supper  at  Arch 
er's  for  one  of  yours,  if  you'll  give  me  my 
choice  of  your  partners." 

The  Doctor  fixed  Hilgard  sternly  with  his 
heroi-comic  gaze.  "  I  understand  your  little 
theory.  Passivity  for  other  folks,  while  you 
keep  rustling!  How  many  men  have  you 
made  this  offer  to  before  you  fell  upon  me  ? " 


THE   YOUNGER  SONS9  BALL.          55 

"  Doctor,  it  is  open  only  to  you,"  said  Hil- 
gard,  with  a  magnanimous  air. 

"  Perhaps  you  're  in  collusion  with  some 
young  lady  in  the  room  —  I  would  n't  be  sur 
prised  !  You  Ve  been  studying  her  card  and 
picked  me  out,  between  you,  as  the  most  gul 
lible  man  on  her  list.  George,  I'm  amazed 
at  your  impudence  !  "  The  Doctor  meditated 
mournfully  upon  this  quality  in  Hilgard,  who 
appeared  to  be  a  favorite  with  him. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  it 's  no  conspiracy.  I 
happened  to  see  your  name  on  a  young  lady's 
card,  for  a  waltz  —  I  know  you  can't  waltz  — 
you  must  have  been  put  of  your  mind  when 
you  asked  her  —  at  this  altitude  !  A  good 
supper  never  comes  amiss  to  a  philosopher 
like  you.  I  'm  considering  your  interests  as 
well  as  my  own  in  this  proposition." 

"  Thank  you,  boy.  I  'm  capable  of  looking 
after  my  own  interests,  as  yet.  Out  of  my 
mind!  At  this  altitude!  Pray,  have  you 
tried  waltzing  at  this  altitude  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  waltzing  up  five  hundred  feet  of 
pump-ladders,  three  days  out  of  the  week  for 
the  last  six  months,  at  this  altitude." 

"  That 's  not  to  the  point.     I  want  to  know 


66  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

why  I  should  n't  propose  to  waltz  with  a  nice 
girl  as  well  as  a  thin-waisted  young  peascod 
like  yourself !  Do  you  suppose  a  man  loses 
his  gallantry  as  he  gains  in  girth  ?  George, 
I  wish  you  had  more  stability  of  character !  " 

"  I  've  got  too  much  ;  —  that 's  the  trouble 
with  me.  I  'm  getting  positively  rigid.  I 
came  here  to-night  to  limber  myself  up  a 
little." 

"  Yes,  you  need  limbering !  Come  —  what 
is  it  you  do  want  ?  " 

"  I  want  your  waltz,  Doctor,  and  you  want 
my  supper :  you  're  hankering  for  it  this 
minute  —  I  can  see  it  in  your  eye !  " 

"  What,  the  supper  ?  I  can  see  it  in  your 
eye !  I  don't  believe  it  exists  anywhere  else." 

"  Well  —  not  at  present,  but  it  will  exist  at 
eleven  o'clock.  A  three-handed  spread  with 
a  dummy, — that  is  the  way  it  stands  now. 
Wilkinson  asked  me  to  take  the  place  of 
dummy,  in  default  of  Pitt,  delinquent." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  Pitt  ?  What 's 
the  matter  with  you,  —  letting  a  good  supper 
go  begging  round  the  camp  ?  There  must  be 
something  wrong  about  that  supper.  Trout, 
did  you  say  ? " 


\ 


THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL.    57 

"  Oh,  yes.  There  's  nothing  the  matter 
frith  Wilkinson's  suppers,  except  the  place 
where  he  has  to  give  them  !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  Archer's  ?  " 

"  I  mean  the  place  !  How  can  a  man  give 
anything  in  a  place  like  this  ? " 

"  It 's  a  good  enough  place,  if  you  know 
how  to  take  it.  You're  taking  it  too  hard, 
my  boy,  —  you  're  looking  thin.  Go  and  eat 
your  own  supper !  You  ought  to  be  a  valiant 
trencher-man  at  your  age  !  " 

"  I  'm  a  better  waltzer  than  trencher-man." 

"I  don't  believe  you,  George.  You  may 
be  to-night,  perhaps.  A  man's  eye  don't 
need  to  be  as  bright  as  yours  to  enjoy  a  good 
supper.  It  should  grow  a  little  tender  — 
soften  a  little,  as  his  spirit  grows  compassion 
ate.  What 's  the  matter  with  you,  boy  ?  You 
look  as  I  used  to  at  your  age,  when  I  was  get 
ting  into  some  awful  scrape." 

"  Then  you  'd  better  keep  me  out  of  temp 
tation  and  go  to  that  supper  in  my  place." 

"Look  here,  George.  It  was  a  daring 
thing  for  me  to  do  !  —  a  man  who  has  n't 
Waltzed  for  seven  years." 

"  Seventeen,  you  mean.  Doctor." 


58  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

The  Doctor  placidly  waved  away  the  inter- 
ruption. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  how  I  came  to  do  it.  Another 
man  was  just  going  to  ask  her,  —  a  friend  of 
Conrath's.  Con  ought  to  be  a  little  more  cir 
cumspect  in  his  friendships  if  he  's  going  to 
turn  them  all  loose  upon  his  sister." 

"  Well ! "  Hilgard  interrupted  impatiently. 

"  Well !  I  cut  him  out !  Was  n't  it  well 
done,  at  any  risk,  eh  ?  " 

"  It  was  like  you,  Doctor." 

"No,  it  wasn't  at  all  like  me.  It  might 
have  been  like  me  at  your  age  —  but  now, 
look  how  I  'm  weakening !  I  'in  rather  inclined 
to  take  you  up  in  that  offer ! " 

"  Of  course  you  are  !  It 's  a  perfect  arrange 
ment  :  you  defeat  Conrath's  friend,  and  re 
ward  yourself  with  a  good  supper." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  're  too  anxious  about  my 
reward  ;  however,  there 's  a  time  for  all  things. 
You  're  in  the  green  tree  and  I  'm  in  the  dry. 
When  I  was  your  age  you  would  n't  have  got 
such  a  bargain  out  of  me,  though  !  " 

"  Come,  don't  moralize.  Eleven,  sharp,  is 
your  hour.  It  will  take  you  five  minutes  to 
put  on  your  overcoat,  and  ten  to  find  your 
hat." 


THE   YOUNGER  SONS1  BALL.          59 

"  Well,  good-night,  boy.  You  're  making  a 
foolish  bargain,  but  you  '11  be  twenty  years 
finding  it  out." 

"  I  shall  call  it  a  very  good  bargain  if  it 
wears  as  long  as  that." 

"  You  '11  make  my  apologies  to  the  young 
lady,  George  ? " 

"  Trust  me,  Doctor !  I  '11  do  it  as  well  as 
you  could  —  at  my  age." 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  Thomas  Godfrey's 
apologies  did  not  long  dwell  with  those  two 
fateful  young  souls,  drifting  so  near  to  each 
other  in  the  smooth  involutions  of  the  dance. 
Nor  could  the  counter-charm  of  their  crude  and 
boisterous  surroundings  avail  to  reverse  the 
spell,  when  its  rhythmic  circles  were  ended. 

The  candles  in  tin  sconces  against  the  wall 
burned  dim,  with  long  winding-sheets  cling 
ing  to  them.  The  lamps  smoked  in  the 
draughts  from  the  windows,  let  down  to 
renew  the  morbid  air  of  the  room.  As  the 
waltz  died,  with  a  piercing  bravura  of  the 
violins,  the  stage,  belated  on  the  pass,  drove 
noisily  up  to  the  hotel  entrance.  Half  the 
people  in  the  room  rushed  into  the  office, 
or  crowded  around  the  doors,  to  witness  the 


60  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

disinterment  of  a  file  of  bewildered  passen 
gers  from  the  damp,  close  interior  of  the 
coach. 

The  cold  night-air,  tainted  with  a  strong 
smell  of  spirits,  swept  into  the  room  with 
the  current  of  excitement.  There  were  bois 
terous  masculine  greetings,  loud  laughter, 
and  the  tramping  of  feet  on  the  uncarpeted 
staircase. 

Hilgard  and  Cecil  Conrath  were  together 
in  a  corner  of  the  half-deserted  room.  The 
violins  were  tuning,  and  the  heated  trumpet 
ers,  with  their  instruments  under  their  arms, 
were  leaning  from  their  chairs  on  the  plat 
form  to  accept  glasses  of  refreshment  handed 
up  to  them  from  below.  The  young  girl's  fair 
hair  was  slightly  roughened,  and  its  straying, 
shining  filaments  caught  the  light ;  her  gray 
eyes,  when  the  shy  lids  revealed  them,  looked 
very  dark,  and  the  deepening  color  in  her 
cheeks  was  clearly  defined  by  the  whiteness 
around  her  mouth. 

"  Are  these  from  the  aspens  that  grow  in 
our  gulch  ?  "  Hilgard  asked,  looking  down  at 
a  cluster  of  pale  yellow  leaves  that  trembled 
at  her  belt. 


THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL.    61 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  speaking  with  little  breath 
less  pauses,  as  the  tide  of  the  dance-music 
ebbed  in  her  breast.  "  I  like  them  better  than 
the  homesick-looking  flowers  the  florists  sell. 
Do  you  enjoy  things  that  seem  to  find  it  so 
hard  to  live  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  respect  them,"  Hilgard  replied. 

"  But  we  don't  wear  flowers  out  of  respect 
for  them  ;  and  when  there  are  so  many  painful 
things  in  the  world,  —  to  have  to  sympathize 
with  flowers  —  " 

She  looked  up  for  encouragement  in  her 
generalization. 

Hilgard's  encouragement  took  the  form  of 
a  silent,  unsmiling,  downward  look,  and  she 
referred  to  her  aspens  again,  rather  hastily. 

"  These  little  leaves  keep  shivering  in  their 
tough  coats,  but  I  believe  it  is  a  little  affec 
tation  ;  they  are  really  quite  warm."  She 
shivered  herself  as  she  spoke. 

"  Is  that  a  little  affectation  too  ? "  Hilgard 
asked. 

"  No,  it  is  only  somebody  walking  over  the 
place  where  my  grave  will  be." 

"  Suppose  you  were  destined  to  a  sailor's 
grave,  —  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea." 


62  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  Then  it  might  be  a  mermaid  gliding  past, 
you  know,  or  a  soft-footed  seal."  Again  she 
gave  a  little  quick  shudder. 

"  It  might  be  ;  but  it  is  the  wind,  from  that 
door.  Let  me  fend  it,  so,  with  my  shoulder." 

She  rested  a  moment  against  the  wall  in 
the  shelter  of  the  defensive  shoulder. 

"  What  is  it  the  boys  say  when  they  play 
marbles?  — ' Fend '  something,"  she  asked, with 
fitful  gayety. 

"Fend  dubs?"  Hilgard  suggested. 

"Is  it  that?  I  thought  it  was  something 
prettier ! " 

"Marbles  was  not  a  euphonious  game 
when  I  played  it." 

"  What  does  '  fend  dubs  '  mean  ?"  she  per 
sisted. 

"  I  will  teach  you  to  play  marbles,  some 
time,  if  you  wish  to  learn,"  Hilgard  said, 
with  a  deep,  impatient  inspiration,  "  but  I 
think  you  fend  very  well." 

They  both  laughed  and  then  were  silent, 
seeming  to  listen  to  a  mental  echo  of  the 
laugh,  and  of  their  light  words.  The  young 
girl  blushed  despairingly  at  her  own  child 
ish  allusion.  It  sounded  rough  and  slangy 


THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL.    63 

to  her,  in  the  reproachful  silence.  The  room 
filled  again,  suddenly,  and  the  open  door  was 
shut.  Hilgard  resigned  his  protective  attitude, 
and  moved  farther  away  from  her.  He  felt 
impatient  of  the  people  crowding  about  them ; 
they  were  helping  to  confuse  those  brief  mo 
ments  that  lacked  so  little  of  perfection.  It 
was  like  trying  to  follow  the  faint  thread  of 
a  retreating  melody  through  a  maze  of  dis 
tracting  sounds. 

"I  will  never  permit  another  aspen  to  be 
cut  on  my  side  of  the  gulch."  It  was  all  he 
could  think  of  to  say.  "  They  shall  be  sacred 
to  you,  from  this  evening." 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  tell  you,"  she 
began  with  a  desperate  courage,  "  how  it  was 
I  came  —  how  I  happened  to  be  at  the  shaft 
that  morning." 

"  There  was  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't 
be  there." 

"  Yes,  there  was.  A  mine  is  private  prop 
erty.  I  know  it  was  altogether  queer.  I  saw 
that  you  thought  it  was,  then." 

"  I  was  perfectly  delighted." 

"  But  I  was  not  there  to  delight  anybody. 
I  simply  thought  I  was  on  my  brother's 


64  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

ground.  I  was  trying  a  new  horse,  and  just 
wandering  about  anywhere." 

"I'm  afraid  I  was  rather  impertinent.  1 
was  surprised,  I  confess,  but  it  was  the  most 
charming  surprise  a  man  ever  had  in  his  life. 
Forgive  me  I  What  did  I  say  to  you  that 
morning  ?  Was  I  very  offensive  ?  " 

"  You  were  not  quite  —  not  as  you  are  to 
night." 

"  Not  quite  so  offensive  as  I  am  to-night  ?  " 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  me  1 "  she  said, 
with  a  grieved  upward  look. 

"  I  could  not  possibly  make  fun  of  you ! 
But  what  can  I  say?  You  would  not  listen 
a  moment  to  the  things  I  want  to  say  !  " 

She  had  been  nervously  fingering  the  clus 
ter  of  leaves  at  her  waist,  and  now  one  floated 
from  its  broken  stem  softly  to  the  floor.  He 
stooped  for  it,  and  held  it  as  if  it  were  a  mu 
tual  confidence. 

"  I  wish  you  would  forget  that  morn 
ing,"  she  said.  "  Make  believe  it  did  not 
happen ! " 

"  If  you  choose  to  forget  it — especially  my 
part  of  it  —  I  must  not  complain.  But  I'm 
afraid  I  cannot  spare  it,  unless  you  will  prom- 


THE  YOUNGER  SONS'  BALL.    65 

ise  me  other  mornings  or  evenings  —  better 
ones — to  make  up  for  it." 

He  was  unconsciously  proving  a  new  range 
of  looks,  and  tones  which  had  been  silent, 
heretofore,  in  the  valiant  procession  of  his 
years.  It  was  the  opening  of  the  vox  humana 
in  his  soul.  The  young  girl  listened  to  the 
"  prelude  soft "  ;  she  sighed,  moving  her  head 
back  restlessly,  and  with  one  hand  crushing 
the  limp  plaitings  of  lace  closer  around  her 
throat. 

"  There  will  be  no  more  mornings  or  even 
ings,"  she  said.  "  Everything  I  do  here  seems 
to  be  a  mistake.  This  evening  has  been  the 
worst  mistake  of  all." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  We  are  none 
of  us  living  our  real  lives.  But  there  might 
be  perfect  things,  here,  —  perfect  rides  and 
walks  and  talks,  —  if  one  were  not  always 
alone,  or  worse  than  alone." 

"  But  one  always  is !  " 

"  But  need  one  be  ?    We  are  neighbors—" 

"  Yes,"  she  interrupted,  "  you  and  my 
brother  are  neighbors !  Oh,  here  is  Mrs. 
Denny !  I  wondered  if  we  were  never  going 
home ! " 

5 


66  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

Mrs.  Denny  came  toward  them,  between 
two  gentlemen,  laughing  and  shivering  in  a 
white  cloak.  Hilgard  felt  that  the  hovering 
joy  of  the  moment  had  vanished. 

"  Did  n't  you  hear  the  stage  drive  up,  Cecil  ? 
Your  brother  is  in  at  last.  He  says  I  may 
take  you  home  with  me  to-night,  and  he  will 
sleep  at  the  hotel.  He  is  completely  done  up — 
has  n't  even  strength  enough  left  to  wonder 
how  you  got  on  without  him  to-night." 

"Where  is  he?"  Miss  Conrath  asked. 
"  Cannot  I  go  to  him  ?  " 

u  He  is  in  bed  by  this  time,  my  dear.  He 
could  scarcely  stand  on  his  feet." 

"  Is  he  ill  ?  "  the  girl  inquired,  anxiously. 

"  Of  course  he  is  n't  ill ! "  Mrs.  Denny 
smiled  meaningly  at  Hilgard  behind  the 
young  girl's  back,  and  made  a  little  waver 
ing  gesture  back  and  forth  with  her  small, 
wise  forefinger.  "  Can't  you  imagine  what 
twenty  hours  in  that  coach  must  be  ? "  she 
added. 

"  I  don't  need  to  imagine  —  I  know ! "  Cecil 
said. 

"  Well,  then !  you  cannot  wonder  he  is  fit 
for  nothing  but  his  bed !  " 


THE   YOUNGER  SONS1  BALL.          67 

At  the  ladies'  entrance  —  a  recent  addition 
fco  the  Colonnade  which  could  not  be  regarded 
as  a  triumph  of  privacy  —  Mr.  Denny  met 
them,  and  silently  offered  his  arm  to  Miss 
Conrath,  as  if  he  had  come  for  that  purpose 
alone.  He  had  spent  the  evening  in  a  semi 
detached  state  of  attendance  on  his  wife, 
varied  by  brief  distractions  of  his  own.  Mrs. 
Denny  gave  him  a  quick,  hard  glance,  when 
he  first  presented  himself,  perhaps  to  ascer 
tain  the  nature  of  these  distractions  from  their 
effects,  but  without  altering  her  vivacity  of 
manner. 


68:  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 


V. 

A   PHILOSOPHER   OF  THE   CAMP. 

As  Hilgard  stepped  into  the  street,  his 
brown  mare,  Peggy,  swung  around  from  the 
hitch  ing-post,  and  whinnied  to  him  impatiently. 
He  patted  her  neck  and  rubbed  her  soft  nose, 
to  console  her  for  her  disappointment,  and 
then,  crossing  the  street,  ran  up  a  dark  flight 
of  stairs  to  Godfrey's  lodging. 

He  found  the  Doctor  asleep  in  his  arm-chair 
before  an  air-tight  stove  that  showed  a  red  glow 
at  its  draught.  The  ashes  of  his  cold  pipe  were 
scattered  over  the  ample  bosom  of  his  dressing- 
gown,  and  a  book  had  slipped  to  the  floor  beside 
him. 

"  Eh  !  what  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  querulously, 
arousing  himself  and  feeling  for  a  black  silk 
cap  that  had  dropped  from  the  bald  spot  on 
the  top  of  his  reclining  head.  "  Is  that  you, 
George  ?  How  did  you  get  in  ? " 


A   PHILOSOPHER   OF  THE   CAMP.     69 

"  I  saw  a  light  under  your  door  and  heard 
you  snoring,  so  I  came  in;  the  door  was 
unlocked." 

"  I  snoring  !  Nonsense  !  I  never  unclose 
my  lips  when  I  sleep !  What  you  heard  was 
the  roaring  of  the  draught.  Open  that  door, 
it 's  very  warm  in  here  !  " 

Godfrey  leaned  forward  and  closed  the 
draught,  then  stretched  himself  back  in  his 
chair  again,  with  a  more  benignant  expression* 

"  Come,  sit  down,  boy.  Are  n't  your  long 
legs  tired  enough  yet,  but  you  must  go  prowl 
ing  about  the  room  like  that  ?  You  '11  give 
me  a  crick  in  my  neck,  trying  to  see  you  over 
my  shoulder." 

Hilgard  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  which 
brought  his  chin  very  close  to  his  knees  ;  he 
rested  his  crossed  arms  on  them  and  his  chin 
on  his  arms,  fixing  his  black-brown  eyes  on 
a  crack  in  the  stove  through  which  he  could 
watch  the  subsiding  gleam  of  the  fire. 

"  I  hope  you  will  sleep  as  well  after  your 
dance  as  I  did  after  my  supper,"  Godfrey  re 
marked.  His  tone  carried  with  it  a  certain 
perception  of  some  mood  in  his  young  com 
panion  which  might  call  for  less  careless  hand* 


70  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

ling  than  characterized  their  usual  inter 
course. 

"It  strikes  me  it's  time  you  were  in  search 
of  a  bed  somewhere.  Did  you  come  here  to 
shr,re  mine?" 

"No,  Doctor,  —  the  fact  is,  you  did  me  a 
tremendous  favor  to-night." 

"  I  rather  suspected  as  much,"  the  Doctor 
assented,  with  a  melancholy  smile.  He  did 
not  look  at  Hilgard,  but  kept  his  eyes  on  the 
stove.  "  George,  I  hope  my  pride  in  you  is  n't 
going  to  have  a  fall." 

"  I  hope  not,  Doctor,"  said  Hilgard,  indiffer 
ently  ;  "  but  you  had  better  put  your  pride  in 
a  safer  place." 

"  I  've  gloried  in  your  tough-heartedness 
where  woman  is  concerned,  more  than  I  have 
in  my  own  philosophy  —  eh  ? "  added  the 
Doctor,  in  reply  to  some  inarticulate  comment 
from  Hilgard. 

"  With  about  as  much  reason,  perhaps," 
George  repeated. 

"Don't  be  flippant,  boy.  It's  a  pity  you 
can't  take  a  lesson  in  the  old  man's  philoso 
phy,  that  you  make  light  of  at  your  own  ex 
pense.  Learn  to  inhale  the  delicate  bouquet 


A   PHILOSOPHER   OF  THE   CAMP.     71 

and  leave  the  wine  alone,  as  I  did  at  Archer's 
to-night." 

The  Doctor  performed  a  fastidious  gesture  of 
lifting  a  fragile  glass  to  his  superior  sense,  clos 
ing  his  eyes  in  an  ecstasy  of  appreciation. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  went  on,  as  Hilgard 
watched  him,  a  hot  impatience  struggling  with 
his  usual  enjoyment  of  the  old  boy's  admoni 
tions,  "  Wilkinson  thinks  he  knows  a  good 
wine  ;  perhaps  he  does ;  but  if  he  does,  then 
I  don't !  There  is  n't  a  wine  in  the  place !  " 

He  appeared  to  have  lost  the  thread  of  his 
anxieties  regarding  the  perilous  state  of  Hil- 
gard's  emotions ;  but  he  presently  returned 
to  it,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  closing  his 
eyes,  as  having  no  one  in  view. 

"  All  girls  are  pretty  much  alike  when  you 
get  twenty  or  thirty  years  away  from  them  — 
<  The  brightest  eyes  that  ever  have  shone,'  you 
know,  —  what  the  deuce  is  the  rest  of  it  ? 
I  can't  remember  any  poetry  that  I  've  read 
since  I  was  ten  years  old.  It 's  the  essence 
a  man  wants  in  his  life,  not  the  individual 
flower ;  however,  at  your  age  I  took  a  more 
specific  view  of  flowers ;  I  did  n't  object  to 
one  in  my  button-hole  now  and  then." 


72  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  hold  on,  Doctor ! " 
Hilgard  interrupted. 

Godfrey  put  out  a  deprecating  hand. 

"  Sit  down,  my  boy,  sit  down.  I  understand 
you  perfectly  —  no  harm  has  been  done  so 
far.  Your  young  legs  ached  for  a  dance  with 
a  pretty  girl.  Say  a  pretty  girl  —  I  don't  insist 
on  your  dancing  with  more  than  one  girl 
at  once  —  whom  you  may  never  see  again, 
and  my  chastened  spirit  yearned  for  an  ad 
mirable  supper.  If  I  let  my  knowledge  of 
young  blood  lead  me  into  some  foolish  fore 
bodings  as  to  the  future,  why,  that  is  n't  to 
say  that  you  're  bound  to  justify  them." 

Under  the  old  boy's  commonplace  manner 
isms  of  speech,  and  the  whimsical  play  of  his 
features,  now  growing  a  little  heavy  in  their 
mobility,  there  was  an  accent  of  genuine  ten 
derness.  Hilgard,  the  boy  of  his  recent  fancy, 
understood  him  better  than  many  of  his  oldest 
comrades,  who  had  witnessed  his  slow  dete 
rioration,  through  twenty-six  years  of  frontier 
life,  and  that  series  of  postponed  successes, 
roughly  characterized  by  the  world  as  fail- 
ures,  which  had  robbed  him  gradually  of  his 
youthful  prestige  among  them.  It  was  said  of 


A   PHILOSOPHER   OF  THE  CAMP.     73 

the  Doctor  that  he  was  lazy,  unambitious,  and 
given  to  levity.  A  pervading  seediness  had 
crept  over  his  outward  man.  The  moth  of 
long  isolation  from  gentle  communications 
had  corrupted  his  good  manners,  and  the 
thief  of  discouragement  had  stolen  his  pride. 
He  sometimes  consorted  with  the  halt  and 
the  maimed  in  reputation ;  he  did  not  always 
avoid  the  dark-colored  sheep  of  the  camp ;  but 
he  was  never  known  to  be  the  companion  of 
its  birds  of  prey. 

Hilgard  was  the  only  one  of  his  acquaint 
ance,  perhaps,  for  whom  he  had  any  affection, 
who  was  not  broken-winged,  or  weighted  with 
some  disability  of  character  or  fortune.  His 
remnant  of  self-respect  showed  itself  in  his 
avoidance  of  the  prosperous  and  flagrantly 
happy.  He  neither  attempted  to  discount 
their  successes,  nor  to  share  them ;  but  for 
Hilgard,  on  the  threshold  of  the  fight,  in  his 
unstained  armor  and  unquenched  ardor  of 
life,  he  felt  all  the  yearning  of  a  woman,  with 
the  doubts  and  fears  of  a  disappointed  man. 
This  feeling  expressed  itself  chiefly  in  gibes 
and  grimaces  of  speech,  which  passed  current 
between  them  much  more  easily  than  senti 
ments  would  have  done. 


74  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  Your  friend,  Mrs.  Denny,"  Hilgard  began 
after  a  silence,  "  in  that  delicate,  arch  little 
way  of  hers,  intimated  that  Conrath  had  been 
drinking  when  he  came  in  to-night.  Is  it  a 
habit  with  him,  do  you  know  ?" 

"  No,  hardly  a  habit,  as  yet ;  a  predilection, 
perhaps.  It 's  a  bad  climate  for  predilections 
of  that  kind." 

"Do  you  suppose  he  —  his  sister  has  ever 
seen  him  in  that  way  ? " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  No,  to  do  Con  justice,  he 
keeps  himself  out  of  the  way  when  his  little 
predilection  has  got  the  upper  hand  of  him. 
He  has  '  important  business  down  town/ 
Women  have  a  great  respect  for  that.  I  Ve 
known  Con's  affairs  to  be  so  absorbing  as  to 
keep  him  secluded  for  twenty-four  hours  at  a 
time,  —  trouble  with  the  smelters,  and  what 
not." 

"  Miserable,  brutal  business  !  "  Hilgard  ex 
claimed,  rising  to  his  feet  with  a  gesture 
expressive  of  the  general  futility  of  things. 
"  Why  is  it  that  men  who  don't  know  how 
to  take  decent  care  of  a  horse,  always  have 
some  woman  at  their  mercy  ? " 

"  Why,  indeed,  my  boy,  when  chivalrous 


A  PHILOSOPHER  OF  THE   CAMP.      75 

hearts  like  yours  and  mine  have  n't  so  much 
as  a  rag  of  a  favor  to  stick  in  our  caps  ! " 

"  What  infernal  selfishness  to  bring  a  girl 
like  that  out  here,  anyhow ! "  Hilgard  went  on, 
without  noticing  the  reckless  inconsistency  of 
the  Doctor's  present  attitude  with  regard  to 
feminine  favors. 

"  Well,  you  and  I  should  be  the  last  to  com-, 
plain  of  that.  The  influence  of  a  nice  girl  in 
a  place  like  this,  provided,  mind  you,"  said 
the  Doctor,  endeavoring  to  recover  himself, 
"  that  no  attempt  is  made  to  sequestrate  the 
same  — " 

"  And  look  at  the  friends  he  picks  out  for 
her  ! "  Hilgard  interrupted  passionately.  "  A 
rowdy  little  woman  with  a  miscellaneous  list 
of  acquaintances  —  " 

"  Steady,  my  boy !  If  you  mean  Mrs. 
Denny,  —  I  'm  one  of  Mrs.  Denny's  acquaint 
ances,  myself !  I  knew  her  at  Central  before 
she  was  married.  She  was  a  bright-faced  little 
thing  just  out  of  school.  Family  came  from 
Tennessee  —  broken  up  by  the  war.  Just 
fancy  a  girl  beginning  the  study  of  human 
nature  in  a  mining  camp  —  and  her  own  na 
ture  in  the  bargain.  She  began  with  Denny. 


76  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

Are  you  listening  to  me,  George  ?  I  suppose 
the  only  way  for  a  woman  really  to  know  a 
man  is  for  her  to  marry  him.  If  that 's  true, 
in  the  course  of  an  average  life,  with  the 
greatest  perseverance,  she  couldn't  get  very 
far  in  the  noblest  study  of  mankind,  could 
she  ?  Well,  Mrs.  Denny  knows  Denny  pretty 
thoroughly,  I  suspect,  by  this  time ;  and  I 
dare  say  she 's  been  surprised  at  a  good  many 
things  she's  found  out  in  herself.  Found 
herself  doing  and  saying  and  thinking  a  good 
many  things  she  never  would  have  believed 
herself  capable  of  when  she  was  a  young  girl. 
She 's  a  weak  little  vessel  —  the  Lord  knows 
what  she  was  fashioned  for ;  but  it  was  n't 
for  Denny  —  that  I  '11  take  my  oath  to.  The 
Lord  never  fashioned  any  woman  for  men  like 
Denny.  She  used  to  be  very  musical  in  a 
chirrupy  kind  of  way,  but  she  doesn't  sing 
any  more  —  says  she  has  n't  any  instrument. 
If  there 's  any  music  in  that  household,  she 's 
the  instrument  and  Denny's  the  player.  It's 
a  wonder  she  is  n't  more  out  of  tune.  It 
makes  a  ghastly  kind  of  music  in  a  family 
when  both  have  ceased  to  love,  and  ono 
knows  how  to  torture." 


A  PHILOSOPHER   OF  THE  CAMP.     11 

"  Doctor,"  said  Hilgard,  "  I  wish  you 
wouldn't!" 

"  Well,  I  won't  —  but  you  mustn't,  either ! 
Let  her  alone,  poor  little  devil !  She  is  n't 
the  kind  that  rebels  and  sets  up  her  own 
individuality.  I  don't  suppose  she  ever  had 
much  to  set  up.  She  just  wobbles  along, 
leaning  a  little  too  far  one  way  and  then  a 
little  too  far  the  other,  and  Denny  prods  her 
up  to  her  place  now  and  then." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  talking  about  it  ? " 

"Well,  I  won't;  only  look  here — why 
should  you  grudge  her  the  company  of  a  sweet 
young  girl  ?  If  she  can  stand  the  contact, 
I  should  think  the  young  girl  might.  Not 
that  I  'd  pick  her  out  myself  to  matronize  a 
girl  of  mine ;  but  Conrath  likes  a  lively  little 
duenna,  you  see.  By  the  way,  George,  —  Con- 
rath  does  n't  seem  to  love  you  much.  What 's 
the  reason  ? " 

Hilgard  looked  uncomfortable. 

"The  reasons  are  underground  —  most  of 
them." 

"  Some  scrape  about  your  end  lines,  I 
hear  —  " 

"Yes." 


78  THE  LED-hORSE  CLAIM. 

"  Well,  that  is  n't  all  of  it,  is  it  ?" 

« Is  n't  that  enough  ? " 

"No,  it  isn't,  in  a  camp  like  this.  I've 
known  men  to  pocket  each  other's  ore,  and 
fight  it  out,  and  be  on  joking  terms  with  each 
other,  like 's  not,  half  the  time.  You  're  the 
one  to  feel  ugly,  it  strikes  me." 

"Well,  I  do  feel  ugly." 

"  You  don't  feel  as  ugly  as  Con  does,  not 
by  half.  Come,  I  want  to  know  what  the 
trouble  is ! " 

Hilgard  turned  red. 

"Hang  it  all!"  he  said.  "It's  that  little 
fool  of  a  woman  you  are  trying  to  make  me 
sorry  for !  It  began  coming  over  the  range. 
We  made  the  trip  from  Fairplay  together, 
Conrath  and  Mrs.  D.  and  myself,  and  a  lot 
more,  shut  up  in  that  musty  coach." 

"You  and  Con  made  Mrs.  Denny's  ac 
quaintance  together,  eh  ?  Well,  that  was  an 
unlucky  conjunction." 

"Oh,  he  knew  her  before,  and  I  didn't 
want  to  know  her  —  " 

"Ah!"  said  the  Doctor.  "I  see!  Well, 
it 's  a  pity.  Mrs.  Denny  is  a  little  fool,  but 
not  an  inch  of  anything  more." 


A  PHILOSOPHER   OF  THE   CAMP.      79 

"  I  don't  care  what  she  is,  if  she  will  only 
keep  out  of  my  way." 

"You  mustn't  take  up  too  much  room 
with  that  way  of  yours,  my  boy.  It 's  a  small 
world.  A  fellow  with  as  broad  shoulders  as 
you've  got,  can't  go  squaring  them  through 
it.  We  Ve  got  to  turn  out  for  the  blind,  and 
the  lame,  and  the  vicious.  For  your  own 
sake,  you  'd  better  turn  out  for  Conrath.  He 
won't  bear  crowding.  Give  him  plenty  of 
room.  I  need  n't  tell  you  you  'd  better  let 
his  lady  friends  alone." 

"  I  should  think  not,  if  you  mean  Mrs. 
Denny,"  Hilgard  said,  fiercely ;  "  Conrath's 
lady  friends  are  not  likely  to  be  mine." 

"  Well,  his  lady  relatives,  then.  The  sister 
is  very  nice  and  very  pretty,  but  she  belongs 
to  the  Shoshone  crowd.  You  '11  find  it  enough 
to  be  mixed  up  with  them  in  business,  with 
out  any  sentimental  complication." 

Hilgard  rose  to  his  feet  and  straightened 
himself  while  he  buttoned  his  overcoat,  look 
ing  down  at  Godfrey  with  an  expression  of 
intense  annoyance. 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  Miss  Conrath  ?  " 

"Surely.  Has  Conrath  more  than  one 
sister  in  the  camp  ?  " 


80  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  When  you  allude  to  a  young  lady  as 
belonging  to  a  '  crowd,'  it  is  lucky  for  you, 
old  boy,  that  it 's  not  my  sister  you  are  talk- 
ing  about." 

"  I  wish  she  were  your  sister.  I  'm  going  up 
to  the  Shoshone  to-morrow,"  Godfrey  added 
presently.  "  I  want  to  look  at  that  girl  again. 
I  can  easily  have  some  business  with  Conrath. 
Besides,  I  owe  her  an  apology  in  person  for 
the  waltz  last  night." 

"You'd  much  better  keep  away.  You'll 
go  up  there  with  a  bee  in  your  bonnet,  and 
make  yourself  ridiculous.  She  has  forgotten 
which  of  us  she  waltzed  with,  by  this  time." 

Hilgard  had  got  as  far  as  the  door,  but 
stopped  and  began  walking  up  and  down  the 
shadowy  part  of  the  room  while  he  expostu 
lated  with  the  Doctor. 

"  If  you  '11  promise  to  keep  away,  I  will," 
the  latter  called  to  him  from  the  depths  of  his 
chair.  "  You  are  much  safer  and  in  better 
company  with  a  ridiculous  old  fellow  with  a 
bee  in  his  bonnet,  than  with  any  of  that 
crowd.  I  say  it  again,  whoever  it  offends !  " 

"  Doctor,  you  are  as  bad  as  a  dime  novel 
i  could  laugh,  if  you  didn't  make  me  so 


A   PHILOSOPHER   OF  THE   CAMP.     81 

mad,  at  the  wild  absurdity  and  the  cheek  of 
you!" 

"  Well,  '  some  will  laugh  while  others 
weep/  "  said  Godfrey,  rubbing  the  black  silk 
cap  about,  sleepily,  on  the  top  of  his  head. 
"Have  you  any  idea  how  late  it  is?  The 
respectable  part  of  the  camp  has  been  in  bed 
these  two  hours ! " 

Hilgard  took  no  notice  of  this  hint. 

"  Conrath  can't  be  all  rascal,"  he  said,  after 
a  silence.  "  There  must  be  a  decent  side  to 
him  if  one  could  only  get  at  it.  How  is  that, 
Doctor,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  is  a  many-sided  youth," 
Godfrey  answered.  "  I  've  seen  only  two  sides 
of  him,— -Conrath  when  he  has  been  drinking 
and  Conrath  when  he  has  n't.  I  have  n't 
found  either  very  attractive.  He  has  never 
done  anything  yet,  but  I'm  afraid  when  he 
cuts  his  wisdom  teeth,  he'll  cut  them  in 
iniquity." 

Hilgard  continued  his  perambulations  in 
silence.  A  smouldering  stick  fell  in  the  stove, 
and  the  flames  started  up  again  with  a  dull 
roar. 

"Con,"  said  the  Doctor — "no,  — George, 
6 


82  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

—  don't  you  get  too  fraternally  anxious  about 
Conrath's  sister."   The  Doctor's  thoughts  were 
evidently  wandering.     "  Mrs.  Denny's  —  little 
discrepancies  —  quite  on  the  surface.     Even 

—  guileless  observer  like  myself  can  perceive 
them."     The   words   came   lingeringly,  with 
somnolent  pauses.     "  I  'm  sorry  —  Con  is  n't 
better  —  boy  — for  her  sake  —  Cecil's  sake  — 
and  yours." 

The  black  silk  cap  fell  off,  as  the  wearer's 
head,  sagging  from  side  to  side,  dropped  back 
against  his  chair ;  his  hand,  with  the  pipeful 
of  cold  ashes,  sank  lower  and  lower,  and 
rested  on  its  broad  arm.  Hilgard  picked  up 
the  cap,  and  pressed  it  quietly  on  the  defence 
less  crown,  which,  as  the  Doctor  said,  had 
"  got  above  timber-line." 

"  G'  bless  you,  George.  Go  to  bed,  foolish 
boy  1 "  the  sleeper  murmured. 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  83 


VI. 

BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS. 

THE  Doctor's  apprehensions  with  regard  to 
Hilgard  survived  the  night  and  clouded  his 
enjoyment  of  a  late  breakfast,  cooked  by  him 
self.  He  tried  in  vain  to  recall  the  face  of  the 
partner  whom  he  had  resigned,  in  a  weak 
moment,  to  his  favorite.  He  could  only  re 
member  that  she  was  young,  with  a  sweet 
voice  and  fair,  indefinite  coloring.  Surely 
there  had  been  nothing  about  her  that  need 
have  been  irresistible,  even  to  four-and-twenty. 
Reflecting,  however,  upon  the  position,  rela 
tively,  of  the  two  mines,  and  the  dangers  of 
propinquity  and  isolation  combined,  the  Doc 
tor  resolved  that  he  would  take  his  threatened 
ride  up  to  the  Shoshone  in  the  afternoon,  and 
satisfy  himself  as  to  the  potency  of  Miss  Con- 
rath's  charms  and  the  consequent  extent  of 
Hilgard' s  peril. 


84  THE  LED-EORSE   CLAIM. 

He  inquired  for  Conrath,  and  was  not  sur 
prised  to  find  that  he  was  not  at  the  mine. 
The  Doctor  had  assured  himself  of  that  fact 
before  leaving  the  camp.  Miss  Conrath  was 
at  home,  however ;  on  his  asking  to  see  her, 
the  maid  showed  him  into  the  long,  bright 
room,  with  windows  at  both  ends  which  served 
for  all  the  social  uses  of  the  managerial  estab 
lishment.  The  young  lady  looked  up  from 
her  low  seat  by  the  hearth,  in  evident  surprise, 
at  his  entrance. 

She  appeared  to  have  been  sitting  a  long 
time  by  the  fire,  for  one  cheek  was  quite  hot 
and  red,  and  her  lips  showed  a  dry,  vivid 
brightness.  She  gave  him  a  somewhat  per 
functory  welcome,  as  if,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
he  had  come  to  see  some  one  else. 

He  began  to  realize,  with  some  uneasiness, 
that  Conrath's  sister  was  not  quite  such  a 
child  as  he  had  thought  her  to  be.  But 
the  Doctor  had  not  the  fear  of  woman,  how 
ever  young  and  fair,  before  his  eyes.  He  re 
ferred  at  once  to  the  ball,  and  to  the  waltz, 
with  the  unblushing  protestation  that  his 
unavoidable  rudeness  had  cost  him  his  night's 
rest. 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  85 

Miss  Conrath  was  not  pleased  with  her 
visitor,  but  she  was  willing  to  bear  with  him 
for  civility's  sake.  She  was  curious  about 
him,  too. 

She  was  looking  a  little  heavy-eyed  and 
feverish  after  the  ball.  She  had  slept  ill  at 
Mrs.  Denny's,  and  had  not  been  able  to  com 
pose  herself  to  rest  since  her  early  return  to 
the  mine.  But  as  the  Doctor  looked  at  her 
he  was  more  and  more  disgusted  with  his 
own  fatuity  of  the  night  before. 

He  almost  groaned  as  he  studied  her,  and 
saw  how  more  than  pretty,  how  adorable,  she 
was ! 

She  sat  somewhat  listlessly  engaged  with  a 
mass  of  soft  white  knitting  she  had  unfolded 
from  a  silk  handkerchief  which  she  spread 
across  her  lap,  while  the  Doctor  discussed  the 
chances  of  the  railroad  getting  through  to 
the  camp  before  winter,  and  indulged  in  the 
usual  revilings  of  the  climate. 

"  Did  you  ever  have  the  asthma,  Miss  Con- 
rath?"  he  asked,  pursuing  this  theme  with 
variations. 

"  I  don't  remember  that  I  ever  did,"  Cecil 
laughed.  She  was  able,  as  yet,  to  regard 


86  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

illness,  connected  with  herself,  as  a  kind  ot 
joke. 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  you  never  did.  But  then, 
you  know,  even  babies  have  been  known  to 
have  it.  Well,  this  is  the  most  marvellous 
climate  for  asthmatics,  in  fact,  for  any  kind 
of  chronic  complaint.  But  I  Ve  observed  these 
stimulating  climates  that  stir  old  blood  out  of 
its  torpor  are  the  very  —  are  a  —  all  wrong 
for  healthy  youngsters.  Young  blood  don't 
require  a  light  atmosphere  any  more  than  it 
requires  a  whisk ey-and-soda  —  if  you  will  ex 
cuse  me — every  morning  before  breakfast.  I 
don't  know,  upon  my  soul,  how  else  to  account 
for  the  way  all  the  young  fellows  go  to  the 
deuce  out  here." 

Cecil  looked  up  at  her  visitor  in  great  sur 
prise.  She  thought  he  might  possibly  be 
approaching  the  subject  of  a  hospital  or  free 
reading-room,  or  course  of  lectures  for  young 
men,  with  a  view  to  asking  for  contributions ; 
but  he  did  not  look  like  an  agent  for  a  benevo 
lent  enterprise.  She  was  at  a  loss  to  under 
stand  the  turn  he  had  given  to  the  conversa 
tion. 

The  Doctor  certainly  was  taking  a  most 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  87 

extreme  view  of  his  duty  in  this  situation, 
which  he  had  found  so  much  worse  than  could 
have  been  expected.  There  was  no  doubt  as 
to  Hilgard's  symptoms.  They  had  been  of  a 
nature  calculated  to  shake  far  more  than  the 
Doctor's  boasted  faith  in  his  tough-hearted- 
ness.  He  had  no  objection  to  the  young  lady. 
A  perfect  lamb,  he  said  to  himself,  and  yet 
with  a  spirit  of  her  own  in  those  steady  gray 
eyes,  under  the  wide  low  arch  of  the  soft  eye 
brows.  But  she  was  allied  to  a  masculine 
element  in  the  camp,  the  nature  of  which  the 
Doctor  understood  better  than  Hilgard.  It 
was  evident  that  his  warnings  had  been  thrown 
away  on  that  headstrong  youth.  He  must  see 
what  could  be  done  with  the  fair  Shoshone. 
There  was  no  way  left  but  to  traduce  Hilgard  — 
blacken  his  character  —  deal  with  him  remorse 
lessly,  and  make  her  afraid  of  him.  George 
might  think  the  treatment  of  his  symptoms 
a  little  rigorous,  but  he  would  live  to  be  thank 
ful  for  it.  The  Doctor  would  shrink  from 
nothing,  where  the  safety  of  his  "boy"  was 
concerned. 

"  He  can  talk  about  his  dime  novels,"  he 
soliloquized  gloomily,  "but  the  state  of  things 


88  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

here  is  not  much  better.  It's  mediaeval,-— 
that's  what  it  is!" 

"  There 's  that  young  Hilgard,"  he  began 
violently.  As  if  the  word  had  been  a  blow, 
the  color  answered  in  the  young  girl's  cheek. 
She  had  expected  that  name  some  time  in  the 
course  of  the  conversation,  but  was  not  pre 
pared  for  it  in  this  connection.  "  George 
Hilgard  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  young 
manhood  when  he  first  came  from  the  East ; 
he  was  like  Saul  among  his  brethren." 

The  unhappy  blush  deepened  until  it  had 
quite  obliterated  the  lire-glow. 

"  I  don't  know  what  can  have  got  into  that 
boy,  unless  it 's  the  altitude  !  He  needs  more 
atmospheric  pressure  —  the  more  pounds  to 
the  square  inch  the  better  for  a  chap  like  that. 
I  've  been  foolish  enough  to  let  in  a  sneaking 
kind  of  a  fancy  for  that  young  limb,  but,  upon 
my  soul,  if  he  's  got  any  friends  in  the  East, 
they  'd  better  send  for  him  !  They  'd  better 
get  him  out  of  this  camp  !  " 

The  young  girl  looked  steadily  at  her  work 
without  speaking,  while  a  paleness  about  her 
lips  spread  slowly  backward  over  her  cheeks. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  time  he  got 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  89 

to  bed  last  night !  He  came  tramping  up 
my  stairs  long  after  midnight  to  talk  over  his 
troubles  with  me.  I  knew  he  was  getting  into 
some  scrape  or  other !  That  boy  has  got  to 
get  out  of  the  camp ! " 

The  Doctor  concluded,  from  the  victim's 
expression,  that  he  had  gone  far  enough.  He 
had  not,  indeed,  intended  to  go  quite  so  far, 
but  the  effort  his  words  had  cost  him  had 
given  them  an  impetus  which  surprised  him 
self.  Miss  Conrath's  head  was  bent  very  low 
over  her  knitting,  and  the  white  wool  slid  over 
her  fingers  with  a  fitful,  uncertain  movement. 
He  now  proceeded  calmly  to  give  his  remarks 
a  more  general  tendency. 

"That's  a  very  pretty  thing  you're  work 
ing  on,  —  looks  as  white  and  soft  as  a  fresh 
snowfall.  Hope  it  will  keep  white  longer 
than  the  snow  does  that  falls  in  this  dusty 
camp." 

With  her  needle  between  her  tremulous 
fingers,  Cecil  held  out  the  corners  of  the 
handkerchief. 

"  I  keep  it  folded  in  this,"  she  said. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  the  Doctor  murmured  abstract 
edly,  "  that 's  a  good  way,  too  !  Ridiculous 


90  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

idea  for  an  old  fellow  like  me  to  be  dwelling 
on ;  but  if  I  had  a  young  sister  or  daughter 
in  this  camp,  I  dare  say  I  should  be  inclined 
to  keep  her  as  you  keep  your  white  wools  — 
folded  away  from  the  dust." 

He  paused  a  moment,  awaiting  some  com 
ment  from  Miss  Conrath.  But  none  came ; 
she  took  a  long  breath  and  rested  her  arms 
on  her  lap,  looking  down  into  the  fire.  The 
Doctor  derived  great  satisfaction  from  her 
attitude,  and  the  long  sigh,  as  of  one  who 
rests  a  moment  after  pain. 

She  began  to  wince  —  poor  little  thing! 
He  would  give  one  more  turn  to  the  screw 
and  then  let  her  breathe  again.  It  was  abso 
lutely  necessary  that  she  and  Hilgard  should 
not  be  running  across  each  other  at  balls, 
every  fortnight  or  so.  George  would  easily 
find  means  to  re-establish  himself  in  her  eyes, 
if  he  had  the  chance.  The  Doctor  would  do 
what  a  devoted  friend  might,  to  deprive  him 
of  that  chance. 

"  Now,  that  ball  of  the  '  Younger  Sons,' "  he 
went  on ;  "  they  claim  to  be  very  exclusive, 
poor  fellows  !  I  'm  one  of  them  myself,  so  far 
as  the  name  goes,  but  I  don't  pride  myself  on 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  91 

it.  A  younger  son  is  no  better  than  an  oldei 
one, — sometimes  not  half  so  good.  What  did 
you  think  of  the  ball,  Miss  Conrath  ?  Did  it 
strike  you  as  being  very  exclusive  ?  " 

Miss  Conrath  lifted  her  eyes  a  moment,  but 
without  looking  at  the  Doctor. 

"  I  do  not  think  those  who  went  to  the  ball 
are  the  ones  to  criticise  it,"  she  said. 

"  Surely  not,"  the  Doctor  cordially  assented ; 
"  but,  on  the  other  hand,  those  who  did  not 
go  are  hardly  the  ones !  You  and  I  have 
been,  Miss  Conrath;  and,  if  I  may  judge 
by  your  expression,  rather  than  your  words, 
you  'find  yourself  not  quite  acclimated  to 
the  pitch  of  gayety  required  to  enjoy  a  camp 
ball." 

"  My  brother  was  not  there,  as  I  expected," 
Cecil  protested. 

"  Ah,  yes,  of  course  that  makes  a  differ 
ence  ;  but  it  makes  more  difference  here  than 
it  would  anywhere  else.  Here,  there  is  no 
classification.  You  have  to  pick  your  way 
among  all  the  people  who  are  crowding  you, 
elbow  to  elbow.  What  is  a  young  girl  to  do  ? 
You  are  no  judge  of  character,  Miss  Conrath. 
I  hope  you  are  not,  at  your  age.  You  are  per- 


92  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

fectly  defenceless  here,  the  moment  you  get 
outside  your  door.  So  is  any  young  girl." 

Miss  Conrath  rose  suddenly,  as  if  her  en 
durance  had  reached  a  limit. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  said,  "  I  must  be  defence 
less,  when  strangers  give  themselves  the  right 
to  take  my  brother's  place  —  and  in  his  own 
house." 

The  Doctor  rose,  too,  smiling  at  her  with 
invincible  composure.  He  was  well  satisfied 
with  the  effect  of  his  desperate  measures.  To 
make  all  sure  for  the  future  he  would  not 
spare  the  final  blow. 

"  Neither  Hilgard  nor  I  dared  to  be  perfectly 
frank  with  you  about  that  exchange  of  part 
ners  last  night.  Shall  I  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it  and  tell  you  the  facts  ? "  he  asked. 

Cecil  faced  him,  her  soft  eyes  expanded 
with  a  pained  brightness. 

"  I  will  hear  nothing  more  ;  you  have  been 
too  frank  already,"  she  exclaimed,  indignantly. 
"  Please  to  have  some  regard  for  me,  if  you 
have  none  for  your  friend.  I  have  heard 
things  to  Mr.  Hilgard's  discredit  from  others 
who  did  not  profess  to  like  him,  but  it  is  his 
friend  who  has  no  mercy  on  his  character, 
and  no  respect  for  his  confidence." 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  93 

The  Doctor  was  instantly  and  mightily 
roused  at  the  thought  of  these  "  others,"  less 
disinterested  detractors,  at  work  upon  Hil- 
gard's  character.  His  was  the  only  hand  that 
could  be  trusted  to  administer  the  blacken 
ing  touches,  and  even  his  began  to  tremble 
remorsefully  at  the  picture  he  had  faintly 
sketched  of  his  boy,  a  prey  to  the  cheap 
temptations  of  the  camp.  He  sat  down  again, 
bent  on  investigating  this  unexpected  aid 
which  had  anticipated  him  in  the  work  of 
defamation. 

"I  should  like  to  know,"  he  burst  forth, 
"  who  has  been  warning  you  against  George 
Hilgard !  Perhaps  your  brother  has  been 
enlarging  on  him  for  your  benefit.  You 
needn't  pay  the  least  attention  to  that  sort  of 
thing.  Your  brother  and  Hilgard  are  engaged 
just  now  in  a  discussion  of  their  boundary 
lines.  Half  the  mines  in  the  camp  are  doing 
the  same  thing;  their  opinion  of  each  other 
is  likely  to  be  more  picturesque  than  edify 
ing.  What  has  your  brother  got  to  say  about 
Hilgard?" 

"  I  have  not  mentioned  my  brother's  name  !  " 

"Of  course  you  haven't,     You  appear  to 


94  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

have  more  sense  than  most  girls ;  but  you 
may  take  my  word  for  it,  Miss  Conrath,  that 
when  you  hear  anything  to  the  discredit  of 
George  Hilgard,  it's  invented  by  the  person 
who  brings  it  to  you,  I  don't  care  who  he 
is  !  Of  course,  your  brother  has  got  to  keep 
Hilgard  at  a  distance.  The  chief  of  the 
Led-Horse  can't  be  chasse'ing  back  and  forth 
across  the  gulch  with  the  sister  of  the  Sho- 
shone  !  You  can't  be  putting  a  man's  ore  in 
your  pocket  with  one  hand  and  asking  him  to 
dinner  with  the  other." 

«  Mr.  Godfrey  ! " 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  'm  in  your  brother's  house. 
I'm  only  expressing  the  general  sentiment 
down  in  the  camp.  /  don't  know  anything 
about  their  squabbles !  I  only  know  that 
George  Hilgard 's  the  finest  young  fellow  in 
this  camp.  He'd  be  one  of  the  ten  who 
would  save  the  city,  if  we  could  find  the  other 
nine ! " 

"  I  don't  know  whom  you  are  defending  him 
from.  You  yourself  have  said  the  worst 
things,"  Cecil  protested. 

"  What  have  I  said  ?  I  said  he  was  in 
trouble.  So  he  is !  So  he  is !  Or  if  he  is  n't, 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  95 

he  *s  in  a  fair  way  for  it.  It 's  easy  enough 
to  see  the  beginning,"  —  he  looked  mena 
cingly  at  the  bewildered  girl,  —  "  but  there 
is  no  telling  where  it  will  end !  I  've  done 
what  I  could.  There 's  not  a  young  fellow 
living  for  whom  I  'd  have  done  what  I  Ve 
done  for  him  to-day!  But  I  give  it  up!" 
The  Doctor  spread  out  both  his  palms  with 
a  hopeless  gesture. 

Cecil  began  to  feel  a  little  afraid  of  her 
eccentric  visitor,  who  did  not  seem  to  be  out 
of  his  mind,  nor  yet  altogether  in  it.  She 
was  troubled  by  a  suspicion  that  he  must 
have  some  motive  for  his  grotesque  outburst 
of  confidence  with  regard  to  Hilgard.  She 
could  hardly  take  it  as  a  wanton  imperti 
nence  toward  herself. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  from  any 
more  discussion  of  your  friend.  What  he  is 
or  is  not,  cannot  concern  me.  My  brother 
will  be  at  home  soon,  I  think,  if  you  like  to 
wait  for  him." 

She  felt  that  her  discourtesy  had  been  well 
deserved,  and,  without  further  apology,  she 
left  the  room. 

The  Doctor  remained  sitting  for  some  time 


96  TEE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

alone;  he  looked  down  at  the  prints  of  his 
dusty  feet  on  the  carpet,  then  at  the  heap  of 
white  knitting  the  girl  had  dropped.  "  Well ! 
if  women  aren't  the  very  —  " 

At  that  moment  the  maid  entered  with  a 
jingling  tray  of  glass  and  silver,  which  she 
proceeded  to  arrange  on  the  sideboard  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room.  The  Doctor  took 
out  a  card  and  scribbled  a  few  words  on  it. 

"Will  you  give  this  to  Miss  Conrath  ?"  he 
said,  handing  it  to  the  maid.  The  words 
were :  — 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  have  made  you  uncom 
fortable.  You  need  not  remember  anything 
I  have  said.  Any  inconsistencies  you  may 
have  noticed  in  my  remarks,  I  will  commend 
to  your  charity  for  an  old  fellow  who  was 
kept  up  much  too  late  the  night  before  ! " 

The  Doctor  was  obliged  to  confess  to  him 
self,  as  he  rode  back  to  the  camp,  that  the 
four  dollars  he  had  spent  that  afternoon  for 
horse-hire  were  entirely  thrown  away,  so  far 
as  it  was  ever  likely  to  benefit  Hilgard. 

"  It  all  comes  of  the  missionary  spirit,"  he 
grumbled  to  himself.  "  A  man  never  goes 
out  with  that  spirit  on  him,  that  he  is  n't  sure 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  97 

to  poke  himself  into  some  place  where  he's 
no  business  to  be." 

After  sunset  of  the  same  day,  Cecil  Con- 
rath  was  walking  back  and  forth  on  the 
hillside  above  the  gulch,  following  an  unfre 
quented  trail,  screened  by  the  quaking  aspens 
from  view  on  the  side  of  the  Led-Horse,  and 
sheltered  from  the  winds  by  the  crest  of  the 
hill.  The  miners,  observing  that  the  young 
girl  often  walked  here  alone,  had,  with  tacit 
courtesy,  left  this  trail  to  her  exclusive  use. 

To-day  she  ventured  farther  than  usual 
into  the  gulch,  attracted  by  the  flutter  of  a 
red  flag  among  the  parting  leafage.  It  was 
planted  in  the  centre  of  a  clump  of  young 
trees,  aspens  of  larger  growth,  and  slender, 
branchless  pines  growing  in  the  bottom  of 
the  gulch.  The  ominous  signal,  awaiting 
some  unknown  issue  in  this  lonely  spot  on 
the  debatable  ground  between  the  two  mines, 
gave  Cecil  a  curious  shock  of  apprehension. 
The  air  was  full  of  rumors  of  incipient 
trouble.  The  situation  had  never  been  ex 
plained  to  her;  she  knew  that  Hilgard  was 
the  accuser  and  her  brother  the  defendant, 
7 


98  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

and  that  the  affairs  of  the  accuser  were  at  a 
low  ebb,  while  those  of  the  defendant  pros 
pered  amain ;  more  than  this,  she  had  only 
her  forebodings,  which  had  not  been  allayed 
by  the  tone  her  brother  invariably  used  in 
speaking  of  his  neighbor. 

Venturing  nearer,  she  saw  that  the  trees 
which  stood  around  the  signal  flag  were  each 
defaced  by  the  hacking  of  a  large  piece  of 
bark  from  the  trunk,  and  bore  an  inscription 
deeply  cut  in  the  white,  exposed  wood.  The 
leafy  covert,  where  the  shadows,  stealing 
down  between  the  hills,  made  an  early  dusk, 
might  well  have  served  for  a  trysting-place ; 
but  these  were  no  amorous  records  which  the 
young  girl  deciphered,  as  she  went  from  tree 
to  tree,  tracing  the  rude  intaglio;  unless, 
indeed,  the  lovers  had  concealed  their  mutual 
vows  under  an  arithmetical  formula. 

The  red  flag  drooped  in  the  failing  breeze. 
Cecil  now  observed  that  it  was  planted  be 
tween  two  narrow,  flat  stones,  partly  driven 
into  the  ground,  side  by  side ;  the  stones  bore 
the  same  mysterious  formulae  with  which  the 
tree-trunks  were  branded. 

What  had  happened  in  this  secluded  spot, 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.  9.9 

with  these  young  trees  standing  about  like 
mute  witnesses,  each  bearing  its  scar  for  a 
token ;  and  what  coming  event  was  this  red 
signal  beckoning  on  ? 

She  heard  a  man's  footsteps  striding  rap 
idly  down  the  trail  behind  her ;  she  waited 
under  the  blazed  trees  until  they  should  pass. 
They  did  not  pass,  but  came  near  and  paused, 
and  Hilgard's  voice,  low,  and  a  little  disturbed 
by  rapid  heart-beats,  gave  her  "  Good  evening." 

"  Is  it  very  strange  for  me  to  be  here  ?  " 
she  asked,  instinctively  summoning  him  to 
her  own  defence.  "  I  never  come  down  into 
the  gulch ;  but  I  saw  this  flag  from  the  hill. 
I  could  not  think  what  it  meant!" 

His  presence  had  changed  her  unaccount 
able  panic  into  a  definable  dread  lest,  when 
she  looked  in  his  face,  she  should  see  there 
records,  unobserved  before,  of  that  deteriora 
tion,  or  capacity  for  it,  which  Mr.  Godfrey  had 
ruthlessly  depicted  and  then  recklessly  denied. 
She  lifted  her  eyes  doubtfully  to  his. 

As  if  he  felt  the  subtle  question  in  them, 
his  own  met  hers  with  their  manly  answer. 
It  was  enough,  and  more  than  enough.  She 
had  not  asked  for  all  the  assurances  that  she 
read  in  his  eyes. 


100  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

"  It  is  altogether  so  very  strange  here,"  she 
said,  looking  about  restively  at  the  encircling 
trees. 

u  Has  anything  frightened  you,  or  troubled 
you?" 

"  Oh,  no  —  it  is  only  the  place.  Why  are 
the  trees  all  cut  and  marked,  and  these  little 
stones  ?  What  has  happened  here  ?  Do  you 
know?" 

Hilgard  could  not  forbear  a  smile. 

u  Only  a  very  little  thing  happened  here  a 
year  and  a  half  ago.  The  southwest  corner 
of  the  Led-Horse  and  the  southeast  corner  of 
the  Shoshone  were  located  here.  The  end 
lines  of  the  two  claims  are  identical.  These 
stones  are  the  corner  monuments,  and  the  num 
ber  of  the  corner  and  of  the  official  survey 
are  marked  on  them  and  on  the  trees.  Did 
it  seem  so  very  mysterious  to  you?" 

u  I  thought  these  stones  marked  the  grave 
of  some  one  buried  here." 

"  The  graves  of  a  good  many  fortunes  are 
marked  by  such  stones  as  these.  But  they 
do  not  usually  mean  anything  more  tragic." 

"  And  what  does  this  flag  mean  ? " 

"It  has  been  used  for  a  survey  that  was 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.          101 


) 
made  to-day  along  the  -line..'-  The-  flag- 

placed  here  for  what  is  called  a  '  back-sight,' 
to  insure  keeping  the  line  ahead  straight." 

"  Then  it  does  not  mean  danger  of  any 
kind  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,  I  am  sure,"  Hilgard  replied. 
"Are  you  a  little  sensitive,  perhaps,  about 
danger  ?  "  he  suggested,  smiling. 

"  When  one  is  alone  a  good  deal  one  is  apt 
to  get  morbid,"  she  admitted. 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully,  thinking  of  his 
own  loneliness,  which  he  had  not  been  con 
scious  of  until  she  became  his  neighbor. 

"  And  the  direction  one's  morbidness  takes, 
depends  on  temperament,  I  suppose.  My 
morbidness  takes  the  direction  of  various 
kinds  of  happiness  I  might  have,  but  never 
expect  to,"  he  said. 

"  I  should  think  you  might  be  quite  happy 
in  your  little  kingdom  over  there."  Her  clear 
accents  struck  with  thrilling  sweetness  on  the 
stillness. 

"  You  will  have  a  kingdom  of  your  own 
some  day.  I  hope  you  will  like  it  better  than 
I  do  mine." 

She  turned  her  cheek  toward  him,  with  a 


102  THE  ZED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

movement  of  attention,  but  without  looking  at 
him. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  if  I  am  on  our  side  of  the 
1  line '  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  Shoshone  side,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

He  came  a  few  steps  nearer  to  her.  "  Now 
we  are  both  on  the  Shoshone  side ;  you  will 
let  me  stay  on  your  side  a  moment,  will  you 
not?" 

"  But  is  that  surveyor  looking  at  the  flag 
now  ? "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden  accent 
of  alarm  at  the  thought  of  a  mathematical 
instrument  which  might  be  of  the  nature  of  a 
telescope  brought  to  bear  on  her  under  the 
present  circumstances. 

Hilgard  reassured  her  by  pulling  up  the 
"back-sight"  and  tossing  it  on  the  ground. 
The  survey  had  been  finished  an  hour  ago, 
he  explained ;  he  had  happened  to  remember 
the  flag  in  passing,  and  had  come  to  take  it 
away. 

She  turned  now  toward  the  upward  trail ; 
but  Hilgard,  walking  at  her  side,  besought 
her  to  give  him  a  few  moments  more. 

"  Am  I  never  to   see  you,"   he   asked,  — • 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.          103 

"as  other  people  see  you,  —  as  I  might  see 
you  anywhere  but  here  ?  Why  may  I  not 
walk  with  you  now,  up  the  hill  to  your 
brother's  house  ?  There  is  no  personal  feel 
ing  on  my  part,  in  this  unpleasant  business 
between  the  mines.  You  have  heard  of  it, 
of  course,  but  it  need  be  only  a  business 
disagreement.  Your  brother  and  I  should 
not  be  enemies !" 

She  had  stopped  as  he  overtook  her,  and 
now  walked  back  irresolutely  toward  the 
group  of  trees. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  enemies ! "  she  said. 
"  It  is  so  causeless  !  So  —  so  —  incredible  ! 
I  do  not  understand  what  it  is !  No  one 
has  explained  it  to  me.  Could  you  tell 
me?" 

"  No,"  said  Hilgard,  dejectedly ;  "  I  am  not 
the  one  to  tell  you.  You  must  have  what 
faith  you  can  in  —  both  of  us  —  until  the 
truth  comes  out.  But  it  is  very  hard  to  feel 
that  your  strongest  bias  must  always  be 
against  me.  If  you  would  give  me  but  the 
merest  chance  that  any  acquaintance  might 
have,  to  put  myself  in  some  other  light  than 
the  one  I  am  doomed  to  in  your  eyes.  You 


104  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

will  always  think  of  me  as  a  determined 
partisan  of  the  wrong  side." 

"If  my  brother  brings  you  to  the  house, 
I  will  think  of  you  only  as  our  guest." 

"  Is  that  likely  to  happen,  do  you  think  ? " 
he  asked  bitterly. 

u  No,"  she  said,  "  it  is  not  at  all  likely,  but 
there  is  no  other  way."  She  stood  with  her 
shoulder  against  a  slender  pine  and  looked 
down  at  the  scar  in  its  side,  touching  it  with 
remorseful  fingers.  "  I  don't  know  why  it 
should  be  so,  but  I  have  known  from  the  first 
that  there  could  be  no  softening  of  this  — 
of  the  bitterness  between  you  and  my  brother 
by  any  effort  of  mine.  It  is  a  woman's  place 
always  to  make  peace,  but  it  has  been  useless 
to  try." 

"  But  I  declare  to  you  that  there  is  no 
bitterness  on  my  part." 

u  Wherever  it  lies,  it  is  there ! "  she  said. 
"  We  cannot  be  friends  —  or  even  acquaint 
ances." 

"  But  you  cannot  make  me  your  enemy  I 
The  bitterness  shall  not  include  us  !  What  a 
strange  fate  it  is  that  I  should  be  on  any 
side  that  is  not  your  side  !  " 


BOUNDARY  MONUMENTS.          105 

She  was  already  moving  away,  but,  at  his 
words,  she  looked  back  without  speaking. 
In  the  gathering  dusk  he  could  not  read 
the  expression  of  her  eyes,  but  the  mute  ac 
tion,  trustful  yet  forbidding,  racked  his  self- 
control. 


106  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 


vn. 

THE   BARRICADE. 

MRS.  DENNY  had  won  from  Conrath  a  reluc* 
tant  promise  that  he  would  take  her  down 
the  main  shaft  of  the  Shoshone,  and  through 
its  subterranean  workings.  He  had  postponed 
the  fulfilment  of  this  promise  until  it  had 
become  a  subject  for  rather  keen  bantering 
between  these  lively  comrades.  On  the  second 
day  after  the  ball,  Conrath  surprised  Mrs, 
Denny  by  asking  her  if  she  was  ready  to  go 
down  in  the  mine  that  afternoon. 

He  had  called  at  her  house  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  the  plan  had  been  discussed  between 
them  as  he  sat  on  his  horse,  and  she  leaned 
on  the  pine-pole  railing  of  the  porch,  wrapped 
in  one  of  the  fluffy  white  shawls  in  which  she 
was  fond  of  muffling  her  small,  chilly  form. 
Conrath  was  looking  pale  and  somewhat  de 
moralized  after  his  stage-ride  and  its  contin 
gencies,  the  nature  of  which  Mrs.  Denny  had 


THE  BARRICADE.  107 

gracefully  indicated  by  pantomime  to  Hilgard 
on  the  night  of  the  ball. 

Mrs.  Denny  considered  Conrath  very  hand 
some, —  almost  as  handsome  as  Hilgard,  and 
far  more  appreciative  and  generally  available. 
She  protested  that  she  could  not  endure  the 
wind  on  the  porch,  and  chid  him  for  permit 
ting  his  pony  to  nibble  the  young  growth  on 
her  favorite  clump  of  fir-trees ;  but  she  did 
not  go  in,  and  Conrath  lingered,  as  if  he  had 
something  on  his  mind  which  he  found  it 
difficult  to  say. 

"  That  beastly  coach  makes  a  perfect  im 
becile  of  a  man,"  he  began,  with  more  vigor 
of  expression  than  the  uncertain  look  in  his 
eyes  bore  out ;  "  I  felt,  when  I  got  in  on 
Wednesday  night,  as  if  I  had  been  kicked 
from  Fairplay  over  the  pass." 

"  Oh,  I  saw  you,"  she  replied,  with  a  teasing 
smile.  "  It  was  plain  enough  that  something 
had  mixed  you  up  pretty  well !  I  told  your 
sister  you  were  a  perfect  wreck,  —  couldn't 
stand  on  your  feet ;  was  n't  that  true  ?  " 

"  Did  you  tell  her  that  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did.  What  was  she  to  think 
of  your  leaving  her  at  loose  ends  that  way  for 


108  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

the  night  ?  Who  was  to  take  her  up  to  the 
mine  ?  You  're  a  nice  brother,  I  must  say ! 
She  was  a  great  deal  more  anxious  about  you 
than  you  deserved.  She  wanted  to  go  to  you, 
but  I  kept  her  away,  —  more  for  her  sake 
than  yours  ! " 

Conrath  flushed  and  laughed,  with  an  awk 
ward  pretence  of  being  amused  at  these  ac 
cusations. 

"  I  don't  know  who  is  to  answer  for  all  the 
fibs  I  had  to  tell  her,"  Mrs.  Denny  continued ; 
"  you  can't,  because  your  time  for  repentance 
is  fully  occupied,  —  or  ought  to  be  !  " 

Conrath,  shifting  uneasily  in  his  saddle, 
regarded  Mrs.  Denny's  audacity  with  sulky 
admiration.  It  gave  a  certain  piquancy  to  the 
commonplace  nature  of  his  weaknesses  to  be 
rallied  upon  them  by  a  pretty  woman. 

"  Are  you  sure  Cecil  did  not  know  how  it 
was  the  other  night  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  would  tell  her  ? " 

"  No,  but  plenty  of  other  people  might. 
She  has  been  very  quiet  and  —  well,  different 
since  the  ball." 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  your  sister,  are  n't 
you,  Con  ?  " 


THE  BARRICADE.  109 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Why  should  I  have 
brought  her  out  here  if  I  wasn't  fond  of 
her?" 

"  To  be  sure  ;  that  is  proof  enough."  Mrs. 
Denny  laughed  her  little  mocking  laugh. 
"  She  must  be  very  fond  of  you,  or  she 
wouldn't  have  come.  How  does  she  amuse 
herself  up  at  the  Shoshone  ? " 

"  Well,  she  is  alone  a  good  deal,  but  she  is 
used  to  that.  She  walks,  and  reads,  and  looks 
at  the  mountains.  She  could  ride,  if  I  ever 
had  time  to  go  with  her." 

"  Con,  when  your  sister  has  been  out  here 
a  year  she  won't  need  any  information  I  or  any 
one  else  could  give  her  about  you.  She  will 
know  you  thoroughly ;  she  will  think  you  all 
out.  I  wonder  if  sh'e  will  have  as  much  faith 
in  you  then  as  she  has  now  ?  " 

Conrath  looked  at  Mrs.  Denny  uneasily. 
"  Are  you  preaching  ? "  he  asked.  "  Or  what 
is  it  you  are  trying  to  get  at  ?  " 

"  Does  it  sound  to  you  like  preaching  ?  If 
you  can  find  a  sermon  in  it,  you  are  welcome. 
Much  good  may  it  do  you  !  " 

"  Cecil  is  not  as  clever  as  you  think,"  Con- 
rath  said,  as  if  still  considering  Mrs.  Denny's 


110  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

words.  "  She  is  n't  cool  and  sharp,  like  you, 
and  she  is  n't  one  of  the  exacting  kind." 

"  Is  n't  she ! "  Mrs.  Denny  exclaimed.  "  Not 
in  the  way  of  attentions,  perhaps ;  but  if  she 
should  come  to  judge  you  once  as  she  judges 
herself  —  " 

Conrath's  horse  began  to  be  restive. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  make  me  afraid  of  my 
little  sister  ?  "  he  interrupted* 

"  You  might  make  her  your  conscience," 
Mrs.  Denny  replied.  "  It  is  n't  a  bad  thing 
for  one  to  be  a  little  bit  afraid  of  one's  con 
science." 

"  You  seem  to  have  my  failings  on  your 
mind  —  you  might  be  my  conscience  your 
self,"  Conrath  suggested,  — "  taking  it  for 
granted,  of  course,  that  I  have  none  of  my 
own." 

"  No,  thank  you.  You  will  need  to  keep 
your  conscience  nearer  home.  Besides,  I 
might  be  too  lenient." 

Mrs.  Denny  laughed,  and  ran  into  the  house. 

The  party  set  out  for  the  shaft-house  after 
the  three-o'clock  whistle  for  the  change  of 
shifts  had  blown.  The  ladies  were  wrapped 


THE  BARRICADE.  Ill 

in  india-rubber  cloaks,  and  Mrs.  Denny  wore 
a  soft  felt  hat  of  Conrath's  on  the  back  of  her 
head,  framing  her  face  and  concealing  her 
hair.  A  miner's  coat  was  spread  in  the  bucket 
to  protect  the  visitors'  skirts  from  its  muddy 
sides. 

"  If  we  keep  on  shipping  ore  at  this  rate," 
Conrath  said,  jubilantly,  "  we  will  soon  have  a 
cage  that  will  take  you  down  as  smoothly  as 
a  hotel  elevator." 

Cecil  was  conscious  that  the  exultant  tone 
jarred  upon  her,  and  she  took  herself  silently 
to  task  for  this  lack  of  sisterly  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Denny  went  down  first  with  the  super 
intendent,  who  returned  for  Cecil ;  when  they 
were  all  at  the  station  of  the  lowest  level, 
they  lit  their  candles  and  followed  one  of  the 
diverging  drifts,  —  a  low,  damp  passage  which 
bored  a  black  hole  through  the  overhanging 
rock  before  them. 

The  sides  of  the  gallery  leaned  slightly 
together,  forming  an  obtuse  angle  with  the 
roof  ;  it  was  lined  with  rows  of  timbers  placed 
opposite  each  other  at  regular  intervals,  and 
supporting  the  heavy  cross-timbers  that  up 
held  the  roof.  The  spaces  between  the  upright 


112  THE  LED-I10RSE   CLAIM. 

columns  were  crossed  horizontally  by  smaller 
timbers  called  "  lagging.'* 

The  impalpable  darkness  dropped  like  a  cur 
tain  before  them.  Their  candles  burned  with 
a  still  flame  in  the  heavy,  draughtless  air.  At 
long  intervals  a  distant  rumbling  increased 
with  a  dull  crescendo,  and  a  light  fastened  in 
the  rear  of  a  loaded  car  shone  up  into  the  face 
of  the  miner  who  propelled  it.  They  stood 
back,  pressed  close  to  the  wall  of  the  drift, 
while  the  car  passed  them  on  the  tram-way. 

The  drift  ended  in  a  lofty  chamber  cut  out 
of  the  rock,  the  floor  rising  at  one  end  toward 
a  black  opening  which  led  into  another  nar 
row  gallery  beyond. 

"  Here  we  are  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
vein,"  Conrath  explained.  "  This  is  an  empty 
'  stope,'  that  has  furnished  some  of  the  best 
ore.  It  is  all  cleaned  out,  you  see ;  the  men 
are  working  farther  on." 

"Oh,  I  should  like  to  see  them!"  Mrs. 
Denny  exclaimed.  "Which  way  is  it?  Up 
that  horrible  place  ?  Cecil,  are  n't  you  com- 
ing?" 

Cecil  had  seated  herself  on  a  heap  of  loose 
planking  in  the  empty  ore-chamber. 


THE  BARRICADE.  113 

"  I  '11  wait  for  you  here,  if  you  don't  mind ; 
I  am  so  very  tired.  Have  you  another  candle, 
Harry?" 

"Yours  will  last;  we  shall  not  be  long 
gone." 

Conrath  and  Mrs.  Denny  scrambled,  talking 
and  laughing,  up  the  slope  ;  their  voices  grew 
thinner  and  fainter,  and  vanished  with  their 
feeble  lights  in  the  black  hole. 

Cecil  closed  her  eyes ;  they  ached  with  the 
small,  sharp  spark  of  her  candle  set  in  that 
stupendous  darkness. 

What  a  mysterious,  vast,  whispering  dome 
was  this !  There  were  sounds  which  might 
have  been  miles  away  through  the  deadening 
rock.  There  were  far-off,  indistinct  echoes 
of  life,  and  subanimate  mutterings,  the  slow 
respirations  of  the  rocks,  drinking  air  and 
oozing  moisture  through  their  sluggish  pores, 
swelling  and  pushing  against  their  straiten 
ing  bonds  of  timber.  Here  were  the  buried 
Titans,  stirring  and  sighing  in  their  lethargic 
sleep. 

Cecil  was  intensely  absorbed  listening  to 
this  strange,  low  diapason  of  the  under  world. 
Its  voice  was  pitched  for  the  ear  of  solitude 
8 


114  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

and  silence.  Its  sky  was  perpetual  night, 
moonless  and  starless,  with  only  the  wander 
ing,  will-o'-the-wisp  candle-rays,  shining  and 
fading  in  its  columnated  avenues,  where 
ranks  of  dead  and  barkless  tree-trunks  re 
pressed  the  heavy,  subterranean  awakening 
of  the  rocks. 

Left  to  their  work,  the  inevitable  forces 
around  her  would  crush  together  the  sides  of 
the  dark  galleries,  and  crumble  the  rough- 
hewn  dome  above  her  head.  Cecil  did  not 
know  the  meaning  or  the  power  of  this  inar 
ticulate  underground  life,  but  it  affected  her 
imagination  all  the  more  for  her  lack  of  com 
prehension.  Gradually  her  spirits  sank  un 
der  an  oppressive  sense  of  fatigue  ;  she  grew 
drowsy,  and  her  pulse  beat  low  in  the  lifeless 
air.  She  drooped  against  the  damp  wall  of 
rock,  and  her  candle,  in  a  semi-oblivious  mo 
ment,  dropped  from  her  lax  fingers,  and  was 
instantly  extinguished. 

It  seemed  to  the  helpless  girl  that  she  had 
never  known  darkness  before.  She  was  plunged 
into  a  new  element,  in  which  she  could  not 
breathe,  or  speak,  or  move.  It  was  chaos  be 
fore  the  making  of  the  firmament.  She  called 


THE  BARRICADE.  115 

aloud,  —  a  faint,  futile  cry,  which  frightened 
her  almost  more  than  the  silence.  She  had  lost 
the  direction  in  which  her  brother  had  dis 
appeared,  and  when  she  saw  an  advancing 
light  she  thought  it  must  be  he  coming  in 
answer  to  her  weak  call. 

It  was  not  her  brother ;  it  was  a  taller  man, 
a  miner,  with  a  candle  in  a  miner's  pronged 
candlestick  fastened  in  the  front  of  his  hat. 
His  face  was  in  deep  shadow,  but  the  faint, 
yellow  candle-rays  projected  their  gleam  dimly 
along  the  drift  by  which  he  was  approach 
ing.  Cecil  watched  him  earnestly,  but  did 
not  recognize  him  until  he  stood  close  be 
side  her.  He  took  off  his  hat  carefully, 
not  to  extinguish  the  candle  which  showed 
them  to  each  other.  Cecil,  crouching,  pale 
and  mute,  against  the  damp  rock,  looked 
up  into  Hilgard's  face,  almost  as  pale  as  her 
own. 

No  greeting  passed  between  them.  They 
stared  wonderingly  into  each  other's  eyes, 
each  questioning  the  other's  wraith-like  iden 
tity. 

"  I  heard  you  call,"  Hilgard  said.  "  Is  it 
possible  that  you  are  alone  in  this  place  ?  " 


116  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"No,"  she  replied,  feebly  rousing  herself. 
"  My  brother  is  here,  with  Mrs.  Denny ;  they 
are  not  far  away." 

"  Your  brother  is  here  —  not  far  away  ?  " 
he  repeated.  A  cold  despair  came  over  him. 
There  was  nothing  now,  but  to  tell  her  the 
truth;  in  her  unconsciousness  of  its  signifi 
cance  she  would  decide  between  them,  and 
lie  would  abide  the  issue.  He  leaned  against 
the  wall  of  the  drift,  wiping  away  the  drops 
of  moisture  from  his  temples  ;  the  short,  damp 
locks  that  clung  to  his  forehead  were  massed 
like  the  hair  on  an  antique  medallion. 

"  You  did  not  know  me  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  I  could  not  see  your  face." 

"  I  am  not  showing  my  face  here.  I  am  a 
spy  in  the  enemy's  camp.  Your  brother  will 
hear  the  result  of  my  discoveries,  in  a  few 
days,  from  my  lawyers." 

It  was  roughly  said,  but  the  facts  were 
rough  facts;  and  he  could  not  justify  or  ex 
plain  himself  to  her,  except  at  the  expense  of 
her  brother. 

"  Must  I  tell  him  that  you  are  here  ? "  she 
asked. 

" 1  suppose  so,  if  you  are  a  loyal  sister." 


THE  BARRICADE.  117 

"  But  I  would  never  have  known  it,  if  you 
had  not  come  when  I  called.  My  candle  fell 
and  went  out.  I  was  alone  in  this  awful 
darkness." 

"  But  some  one  else  would  have  come  if 
I  had  n't.  You  need  not  be  grateful  for 
that.  Your  brother  would  have  found  you 
here." 

"  But  I  could  not  have  endured  it  a  mo 
ment  longer ! " 

"  Oh  yes,  you  would  have  endured  it.  I 
need  not  have  come." 

"  Why  did  you  come,  then  ? " 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "I  was  a  fool 
to  come.  Why  does  a  man  come,  when  he 
hears  a  woman's  voice,  that  he  knows,  —  in 
trouble  ? " 

He  was  groping  about  on  the  floor  of 
the  drift  in  search  of  her  candle  ;  and  now, 
kneeling  beside  her,  he  lit  it  by  his  own  and 
held  it  toward  her.  Their  sad,  illumined 
eyes  met. 

"  How  your  hand  trembles !  Were  you  so 
frightened  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  does  it  seem  very  silly  to  you  ?  My 
strength  seemed  all  going  away." 


118  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

It  was  madness  for  him  to  stay,  but  ho 
could  not  leave  her,  pale,  and  dazed,  and 
helpless  as  she  was. 

"  Let  me  fix  you  a  better  seat."  He  moved 
the  rough  boards  on  which  she  was  sitting,  to 
make  a  support  for  her  back. 

"  Oh,  please  go,  and  get  out  of  the  mine  ! " 
she  entreated,  —  with  voice  and  eyes,  more 
than  with  words. 

"  But  I  cannot  get  out,  until  the  next 
change  of  shifts.  I  have  taken  the  place  of 
one  of  the  miners  on  this  shift ;  besides,  I 
have  not  finished  what  I  came  for." 

"  Why  do  you  call  yourself  a  spy  ?  are  you 
doing  anything  you  are  ashamed  of?"  she 
asked,  with  childlike  directness. 

u  I  am  a  little  ashamed  of  the  way  I  am 
doing  it,"  he  replied,  with  equal  directness, 
"  but  not  of  the  thing  I  am  doing." 

"  And  will  it  injure  my  brother  —  what  you 
are  doing  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  the  truth  will  injure  him ;  I 
am  trying  to  find  out  the  truth." 

"  But  why  should  you  come  in  this  way 
to  find  it  out  ?  Surely  my  brother  wants  to 
know  it  too,  if  it  is  about  this  quarrel," 


THE  BARRICADE.  119 

It  was  a  home  question ;  he  could  only 
answer,  — 

"  Your  brother  is  very  sure  that  he  knows 
the  truth  already.  /  want  to  be  sure,  too.  I 
am  not  asking  you  not  to  tell  him  I  ain  here. 
I  have  taken  the  risks." 

"What  are  the  risks?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"  They  are  of  no  consequence  compared  with 
the  tiling  to  be  done  —  I  must  not  stay." 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  with  an  accent  of  terror, 
"  they  are  here ! " 

A  light  showed  at  the  dark  opening  above 
the  incline,  and  the  thin  stream  of  Mrs.  Den 
ny's  chatter  trickled  faintly  on  the  silence. 

Cecil  put  out  both  candles  with  a  flap  of 
her  long  cloak. 

"  Oh,  will  you  go  !  " 

Hilgard  heard  her  whisper,  and  felt  her 
hands  groping  for  him  in  the  darkness,  and 
pushing  him  from  her.  He  took  the  timid 
hands  in  his  and  pressed  them  to  his  lips, 
and  then  stumbled  dizzily  away  through  the 
blackness. 

A  proposition  from  her  companions  to  pro 
long  their  wanderings  until  they  had  reached 
the  barricade  was  opposed  by  Cecil  with 


120  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

all  the  strength  her  adventure  had  left  her; 
but  when  it  appeared  that  their  way  lay 
along  the  same  drift  in  a  direction  opposite 
that  by  which  Hilgard  had  made  his  retreat, 
she  offered  no  further  objection.  Her  silence 
was  sufficiently  explainable  by  the  fright  she 
had  had  in  the  darkness. 

The  drift  led  to  another  smaller  ore-cham 
ber,  where  miners  were  at  work,  picking  down 
the  heavy  gray  sand,  and  shovelling  it  into 
the  tram-cars.  Conrath  explained  that  this 
"  stope  "  was  in  the  new  strike,  claimed  by  the 
Led-Horse,  and  that  the  barricade  guarded  the 
drift  just  beyond. 

"  I  suppose  it  does  n't  make  so  much  differ 
ence  whom  the  ore  belongs  to,"  Mrs.  Denny 
commented  lightly ;  "  it 's  a  question  of  who 
gets  it  first !  Passez,  passez  !  You  need  n't 
stop  to  expostulate.  I  am  not  a  mining 
expert." 

Conrath  looked  excessively  annoyed,  but  re 
frained  from  defining  his  position  to  this  cheer 
ful  non-professional  observer.  As  they  entered 
the  low  passage,  they  found  themselves  face 
to  face  with  a  wall  of  solid  upright  timber 
ing  which  closed  its  farther  end,  and  in  the 


THE  BARRICADE.  121 

midst  of  a  silent  group  of  men,  seated  along 
the  side-walls  of  the  drift  on  blankets  and 
empty  powder-kegs. 

The  barricade  was  pierced  at  about  the 
height  of  a  man's  shoulders  with  small  round 
loop-holes.  Two  miners'  candlesticks  were 
stuck  in  the  timbers,  high  above  the  heads  of 
the  guard,  who  lounged,  with  their  rifles  across 
their  knees,  the  steel  barrels  glistening  in  the 
light. 

Cecil's  fascinated  gaze  rested  on  this  sig 
nificant  group.  The  figures  were  so  immov 
able,  and  indifferent  of  face  and  attitude,  so 
commonplace  in  type,  that  she  but  slowly 
grasped  the  meaning  of  their  presence  there. 
These,  then,  were  the  risks  that  were  of  no 
•.  consequence  ! 

Turning  her  pale  face  towards  her  brother, 
she  asked,  "  Is  this  what  you  have  brought 
us  to  see  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  knew  what  a  barricade  is  !  " 

"  I  never  knew  !  I  knew  —  I  thought  it 
was  that,"  —  pointing  to  the  wall  of  timber  — 
"  but  not  this  !  "  She  looked  toward  the  silent 
group  of  men,  each  holding  his  rifle  with  a 
careless  grasp. 


122  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  You  would  n't  make  a  good  miner's  wife, 
Cecil,"  said  Mrs.  Denny  ;  and  a  slow  smile 
went  round  among  the  men. 

"  Hark,"  said  Conrath.  They  were  still 
facing  the  barricade,  and  the  dull  thud  of 
picks  far  off  in  the  wall  of  rock  sounded  just 
in  front  of  them.  "  Do  you  hear  them  at 
work  ?  Now  turn  the  other  way."  The  sound 
came  again,  precisely  in  front.  "  They  are  a 
long  way  off  yet.  Can  you  make  out  how 
they  are  going  to  strike  us,  boys  ?  "  Conrath 
asked  of  the  guard. 

"  You  can't  tell  for  sure,  the  rock  is  so 
deceivin' ;  but  they  seem  to  be  comin'  straight 
for  the  end  of  the  drift." 

"  Who  are  they  ?  Who  are  coming  ?  " 
Cecil  demanded. 

"The  Led-Horses,  my  dear.  They  may 
blast  through  any  day  or  night,  but  they'll 
find  we  've  blocked  their  little  game." 

"  What  is  their  game  ? "  Mrs.  Denny  in 
quired. 

"  They  claim  our  new  strike,  and,  from  the 
sound,  they  seem  to  be  coming  for  it  as  fast 
as  they  can  !  " 

Cecil  locked  her  arms  in  the  folds  of  her 


THE  BARRICADE.  123 

long,  shrouding  cloak,  and  a  nervous  shudder 
made  her  tremble  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Poor  little  girl ! "  said  Conrath,  putting 
his  arm  around  her  shoulders  ;  "  I  ought  to 
have  taken  you  straight  home  after  the  fright 
you  got  in  the  drift." 

"  Why,  do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Denny, 
looking  a  little  pale  herself,  "  I  think  this  is 
awfully  interesting.  I  'd  no  idea  that  beau 
teous  young  Hilgard  was  such  a  brigand. 
Just  fancy,  only  two  nights  ago  you  were 
dancing  with  him,  Cecil !  " 

"  What  ?  "  said  Conrath,  turning  his  sister 
roughly  toward  him  with  the  hand  that  rested 
on  her  shoulder.  She  moved  away,  and  stood 
before  him,  looking  at  him,  her  straightened 
brows  accenting  the  distress  in  her  up-raised 
eyes. 

"  Why  should  I  not  dance  with  him  ?  In 
this  place  you  all  suspect  each  other,  and 
accuse  each  other  of  everything.  He  accuses 
you.  Shall  Mrs.  Denny,  on  that  account,  refuse 
to  dance  with  you  ? " 

She  spoke  in  a  very  low  voice,  but  Con- 
rath  replied  quite  audibly,  "Don't  be  a  fool, 
Cecil ! " 


124  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  letting  her  arms  fall  be- 
fore  her,  desperately,  "  it  is  all  the  wildest, 
wildest  folly  that  any  one  ever  heard  of ! 
Men,  fighting  about  money  —  that  is  n't  even 
their  own  !  Why,  this  is  not  mining,  it  is 
murder ! " 

"  We  're  not  fighting,"  Conrath  replied. 
"Half  the  mines  in  the  camp  are  showing 
their  teeth  at  each  other; — it's  the  way  to 
prevent  fighting.  If  they  keep  on  their  own 
ground  there  won't  be  any  trouble ;  but," 
turning  to  Mrs.  Denny  with  a  darkening  look, 
"  if  I  catch  that  '  beauteous '  friend  of  yours 
on  my  ground,  he  '11  be  apt  to  get  his  beauty 
spoiled." 

On  their  way  back  along  the  drift,  they 
were  warned  by  a  spark  of  light  and  a  distant 
rumbling  that  a  car  was  .approaching  along 
the  tram-road.  They  stopped,  and,  lowering 
their  candles,  stood  close  against  the  sloping 
wall  while  the  car  passed.  It  was  at  the  en 
trance  to  another  dark  gallery,  and  as  the  car 
rolled  on,  the  warm  wind  of  its  passage  mak 
ing  their  candles  flare,  it  left  them  face  to 
face  with  a  miner,  who  had  also  been  over 
taken  at  the  junction  of  the  drifts.  He  was 


THE  BARRICADE.  125 

tall,  and  his  face  was  in  deep  shadow  from 
the  candle  fastened  in  the  crown  of  his  hat. 
He  stepped  back  into  the  side-drift,  pulling 
his  hat-brim  down. 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  Mrs.  Denny  asked. 

"  I  did  n't  notice  him,"  Conrath  replied. 
"  One  of  the  Cornish-men  on  the  last  shift. 
I  don't  know  all  their  faces." 

"  He  does  n't  walk  like  a  Cornish-man," 
said  Mrs.  Denny,  looking  after  him,  "  and  his 
hand  was  the  hand  of  a  gentleman."  They 
moved  on  a  few  paces  in  silence.  Cecil 
flagged  a  little  behind  the  others,  and  then 
dropped  to  the  floor  of  the  drift  in  a  dead 
faint. 

It  was  the  air,  they  said, — and  the  nervous 
shock  she  had  suffered  while  alone  in  the 
ore-chamber. 

She  let  them  explain  it  as  they  would,  only 
begging  to  be  left  to  recover  herself  quietly  in 
her  own  room. 

When  the  little  stir  of  Mrs.  Denny's  de 
parture  had  subsided,  and  the  house  was 
once  more  silent,  Cecil  rose,  still  pale,  and 
shuddering  with  slight,  successive  chills,  and 


126  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

sought  the  snug  warmth  of  the  kitchen.  It 
was  early  twilight,  but  a  lamp  had  been  lit  on 
the  shelf  above  the  ironing-table,  where  the 
maid  was  at  work,  rubbing  and  stretching  her 
starched  cuffs,  and  clapping  the  iron  down  at 
intervals  on  its  stand.  From  time  to  time 
she  bestowed  a  glance  of  sympathy  on  her 
young  mistress's  dejected  figure,  crouching 
by  the  stove,  her  hands  extended  toward  the 
steam  from  the  kettle. 

"  Molly,  if  anything  should  happen  at  the 
mine,  would  the  engine  stop  right  away  ? " 
Cecil  asked,  after  a  long  silence. 

"  Why,  yes,  Miss,  if  anything  broke." 
"  No,  I  mean  if  any  one  were  hurt." 
"  Well,  if  't  was  one  of  the  men,  maybe  they 
would  n't  stop,"  said  Molly,  gravely  lifting  a 
fresh  iron  from   the  stove,  arid   inverting  it 
close  to  her  glowing  cheek.     "  The  pumpin'- 
engine    don't   never   stop,    unless    somethin' 
breaks,   or  the   mine   shuts   down  for   good 
an'  all." 

"But  if  it  were — if  anything  should  hap 
pen  to  my  brother  ? " 

"  They  'd  stop,  if  the  superintendent  was 
hurt  —  of  course  they  would,  Miss." 


THE   BARRICADE.  127 

"  The  engine  would  stop  ? "  Miss  Cecil  re 
peated,  lifting  her  head  from  the  supporting 
hand  on  which  it  had  rested. 

"  Yes,  Miss,  it  would." 

They  were  both  silent,  while  Cecil  seemed 
to  listen.  "  Mr.  Conrath  is  not  under  ground, 
is  he,  Miss  ? " 

"  No,  he  went  down  to  the  camp  with  Mrs, 
Denny  ;  —  will  you  open  the  door  a  moment, 
Molly?" 

Molly  opened  the  door  and  stood  against 
it,  folding  her  bare  arms  in  her  apron, —  a 
warm,  bright  figure,  with  the  gray,  cold  sky 
of  twilight  behind  her.  The  heavy  heart-beats 
of  the  engine  came  distinctly  from  the  shaft- 
house.  Cecil  went  to  the  door  and  stood 
beside  Molly,  looking  out  at  the  dull  sky,  and 
the  new,  unpainted  buildings,  crudely  set  in 
the  low-toned  landscape  of  evening. 

"  Do  you  hear  the  other  engine  ? "  Cecil 
asked,  after  a  moment's  doubtful  listening. 

"  The  one  over  yon,  Miss  ?  I  hear  it  plain 
—  wait  now !  It  comes  faint-like,  between. 
Was  you  thinkin'  anythin'  would  be  hap- 
penin'?" 

"  I  'm  always  thinking  something  will  hap 


128  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

pen,"  said  Cecil,  a  deep  sigh  following  her 
long-suspended  breath. 

"  Yes,  there 's  a  mort  o'  trouble  with  them 
mines  !  'Most  every  day  some  of  'em  gets 
hurt.  They  gets  a  bucket  dropped  on  their 
heads,  or  a  rope  breaks,  or  a  blast  goes  off ; 
or  they  sets  a  kag  o'  that  Giant  on  the  stove 
to  warm  it,  and  it  goes  off  on  'em  and  tears 
everything  to  pieces." 

"  What  is  <  Giant,'  Molly  ? " 

"  It's  a  kind  of  powder,  Miss — awful  inno- 
cent-lookin'  stuff,  like  cold  grease  —  but  it  do 
send  a  lot  o'  them  poor  fellows  out  o'  the 
world  !  They  gets  careless,  that 's  what  the 
companies  says." 

"  Do  you  know  anybody  in  the  mines, 
Molly  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,  Miss.  My  brother 's  on  the 
Led-Horse,  and  I  know  another  o'  the  boys 
across  the  gulch." 

"  Molly !  how  strange  that  is  ! " 

"  Is  it,  Miss  ?  Sure,  I  don't  know  why  ! 
Tom's  been  over  there  since  ever  Mr.  West 
come.  He  worked  under  him  in  Deadwood. 
He  likes  Mr.  West  first-rate,  an'  he  likes  Mr. 
Hilgard." 


THE  BARRICADE.  129 

"  Who  put  Mr.  West  in,  do  you  know  ? " 

"  Mr.  Hilgard,  Miss.  They  was  a  loafin', 
drinkin'  set  over  there  when  he  come  out 
from  the  East  to  take  holt,  and  he  could  n't 
make  nothin'  of  'em  ;  an'  so  he  clears  out 
the  whole  lot  of  'em,  and  Gashwiler  at  the 
head  of  'em  and  the  worst  one  of  all,  to  put 
in  Mr.  West  an'  a  new  gang  o'  men." 

"  Gashwiler  —  do  you  mean  our  captain  ? " 

"  I  do,  Miss  !  " 

"  Oh,  Molly  !  I  never  knew  that !  Shut  the 
door —  I  'm  so  cold !  I  never  knew  it !  "  she 
repeated,  gazing  at  Molly  desolately. 

"  It  might  be  you  did  n't,  Miss  —  but  it 's 
the  truth.  Mr.  Conrath  maybe  'd  pack  me 
out  of  the  house  for  sayin'  it,  but  it 's  my  be 
lief  that  Gashwiler 's  making  the  whole  trouble 
between  'em.  He  knows  the  Led-Horse,  every 
inch  of  it,  Miss,  and  where  their  ore  is,  just 's 
I  could  come  in  here  and  lay  my  hand  on  the 
flour-barrel  in  the  dark." 

Again  in  silence  they  listened  to  the  beat 
of  the  engines. 

"  When  do  the  men  on  the  three-o'clock 
shift  come  up,  Molly  ?  " 

"  At  eleven  o'clock,  Miss." 

9 


130  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  Why,  how  long  they  stay  down  there  !  " 
"  Eight    hours    it  is,   above    ground,   and 

eight  below.     I   bet  it  seems  long  to   them 

that 's  below  ! " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Cecil,  lifting  her  hands,  and 

pressing  them  on   the  top  of  her  head,  "I 

wish  they  would  all  resign ! " 


THE  SIIOSHONE  KITCHEN.         131 


VIII. 

THE   SHOSHONE   KITCHEN. 

CECIL'S  life  at  the  mine  was  a  lonely  one. 
Even  the  ladies  who  lived  in  the  populousT 
parts  of  the  camp  struggled  vainly  to  fulfil 
duly  that  important  feminine  rite,  the  exchange 
of  calls.  There  were  difficulties  of  roads  and  of 
weather,  and  of  finding  the  missing  houses  of 
acquaintances,  which,  in  the  progressive  state 
of  the  city  topography,  had  been  unexpectedly 
shunted  off  into  other  streets.  A  new  street 
had  barely  time  to  be  named  and  numbered, 
before  it  was  moved  backward  or  forward, 
or  obliterated  altogether,  in  the  intermittent 
attempts  of  the  city  government  to  recon 
cile  United  States  patents  with  "  jumpers' " 
claims. 

Cecil,  two  miles  from  the  post-office,  at  an 
isolated  mine,  was  out  of  the  reach  of  all  but 
the  most  persevering  efforts  of  her  new  friends. 
In  truth,  there  were  not  many  of  them.  Cecil 


132  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

was  a  shy  girl,  just  out  of  school,  with  a  habit 
of  showing  surprise  at  a  great  many  things 
that  were  taken  as  a  matter  of  course  in  the 
camp.  Hilgard  had  one  consolation  in  his 
exile  from  all  chance  of  her  favor :  there  was 
no  one  else  who  could  boast  of  it. 

The  kitchen  and  parlor  at  the  Shoshone 
were  separated  from  each  other  only  by  a 
short  flight  of  steps,  and  a  square,  dark  pas 
sage,  which  opened  also  into  Conrath's  office. 
Mistress  and  maid,  living  so  near  together, 
and  being  of  nearly  the  same  age,  did  not  pre 
tend  to  a  very  formal  relation.  The  sounds 
from  the  kitchen  plainly  described  to  Cecil, 
in  the  parlor,  the  nature  of  Molly's  opera 
tions.  When  they  were  loud  and  urgent; 
when  Molly  took  the  field  with  her  canvas 
apron  girt  round  her  hips,  and  her  wash-tubs 
in  solid  array  ;  when  armfuls  of  wood  thun 
dered  into  the  wood-bin,  or  crockery  rattled,  or 
resonant  tins  responded  to  her  vigorous  touch, 
the  young  mistress  kept  within  her  own  pre 
cincts  ;  but  when  footsteps  trod  peacefully  to 
and  fro  between  the  stove  and  the  ironing- 
table,  and  the  clap  of  the  iron  sounded  at 
intervals,  or  when  apples  bumped  comfort- 


THE  SHOSHONE  KITCHEN.         133 

ably  from  the  pan  on  Molly's  knees  to  the 
one  on  the  floor  beside  her,  Cecil  ventured 
out,  with  her  sewing,  or  sat  idle  on  the  steps, 
nursing  her  arms  in  her  lap,  and  watching 
Molly's  monotonous  movements  with  the 
pleased,  curious  content  of  a  child. 

These  visits  had  increased  somewhat  in 
frequency  since  Miss  Conrath's  discovery  that 
the  affections  of  her  maid  were  temporarily 
deposited  in  the  Led-Horse. 

Molly  had  silently  noted  this  fact,  and 
hinted  it  to  her  brother,  and  to  a  tall  young 
timber-man  who  crossed  the  gulch  with  him 
occasionally,  and  spent  an  evening  in  the  Sho- 
shone  kitchen.  The  young  timber-man  had 
been  one  of  the  two  men  at  the  cranks,  who 
had  hoisted  Hilgard  to  the  surface  on  the 
morning  of  his  first  meeting  with  Miss  Con- 
rath.  He  recalled  this  incident  for  Molly's 
benefit,  who  gave  it  its  full  value,  and  beamed 
over  it  with  the  broadest  satisfaction. 

"  Sure  I  could  see  a  good  way  out  of  it," 
was  her  hearty  if  somewhat  premature  sug 
gestion.  "  Let  them  consolidate  the  mines 
an'  put  Mr.  Hilgard  over  'em  both,  an'  let 
her  choose  which  side  of  the  gulch  she  'd  live. 


134  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

I  would  n't  live  over  there,"  Molly  continued, 
indicating,  with  a  depreciative  toss  of  her 
head,  the  Led-Horse  side  of  the  gulch,  "  for 
all  you've  got  in  the  mine." 

"  It 's  not  much,  thin !  "  Tom  interposed, 
confidentially. 

"  The  water  is  that  hard,  it 's  enough  to 
take  the  skin  off  your  hands,"  Molly  contin 
ued,  "  and  the  ground  's  as  black  as  the  stove, 
with  the  crock  off  o'  thim  burnt  woods,  an' 
every  man  o'  you  leavin'  the  print  of  his  fut 
on  the  floors.  Sure  I  might  be  on  me  knees 
from  mornin'  to  night,  and  they  'd  never  look 
clean  !  " 

"  You  'd  not  be  scrubbin'  floors  if  you  was 
over  there  !  "  the  young  timberman  remarked, 
with  emphasis  that  brought  the  color  into 
Molly's  cheeks. 

"  And  who  'd  be  doin'  it  for  me  ? "  she 
asked,  in  a  high  voice.  "  Is  it  the  men  that 
scrubs  the  floor  over  there  and  the  women 
that  works  underground  ?  " 

Cecil,  alone  in  the  silent  parlor,  heard  the 
burst  of  boyish  laughter  that  followed  this 
sally,  and  said  to  herself,  rather  wistfully,  that 
the  Shoshonc  kitchen  was  much  the  most 
cheerful  room  in  the  house. 


THE  S  HO  SHONE  KITCHEN.         135 

On  the  days  after  these  evening  visits, 
Molly  was  unusually  communicative,  and  had 
a  great  deal  of  information  to  give  on  the 
progress  of  the  dispute  between  the  mines. 
Cecil  did  not  always  restrain  her  when  she 
sometimes  inadvertently  passed  from  an  atti 
tude  of  respectful  neutrality  to  one  of  undis 
guised  enthusiasm  for  the  side  of  the  Led- 
Horse.  It  was  best  to  hear  both  sides,  Cecil 
said  to  herself;  but  she  heard  very  little  on 
the  side  of  the  Shoshone  in  these  days. 

It  was  becoming  more  and  more  difficult  to 
talk  to  her  brother  of  his  affairs,  and  to  ask 
for  his  confidence.  He  seemed  unusually  pre 
occupied.  He  often  came  home  late  at  night, 
having  dined  down  town,  and  breakfasted 
alone  in  the  long  parlor  at  ten  or  eleven 
o'clock  the  next  morning.  Cecil,  taking  her 
walk  on  the  windy  porch,  would  run  in  for 
a  moment  to  pour  his  coffee,  perching  oppo 
site  him  with  her  hat  on,  and  the  wings  of 
her  cloak  thrown  back  from  her  pretty  arms. 
She  would  carry  his  cup  round  the  table  to 
him,  bestowing  the  kiss  of  custom  on  his 
pale,  unshaven  cheek.  He  received  it  gen 
erally  with  fraternal  indifference,  but  some- 


136  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

times  he  would  pull  her  down  on  the  broad 
arm  of  his  chair,  pinch  her  small  chin,  and 
tell  her,  with  careless  hyperbole,  that  she  was 
the  prettiest  girl  west  of  the  Mississippi.  And 
she  would  scold  him  for  drinking  such  very 
black  coffee  in  such  a  large  cup. 

"  Look  at  your  hand,  how  it  shakes,  you 
stupid  boy  !  A  man  never  knows  how  to  take 
care  of  his  health,  and  you  won't  let  me  take 
care  of  yours  for  you." 

"  Take  care  of  your  own,  Cecy,"  he  would 
say.  "  You  were  always  the  best  of  the  whole 
lot  of  us." 

Once  she  reminded  him  of  an  old  promise  to 
ride  with  her  every  day  in  the  valley,  and  read 
aloud  to  her  in  the  evenings. 

"  If  we  don't  begin  soon,"  she  complained, 
"  the  valley  will  be  covered  with  snow.  I 
have  n't  had  my  habit  on  for  six  weeks,  and 
I  've  read  everything  in  the  house,  through  and 
through,  alone  here  by  myself  all  day  long." 

"  Poor  little  Cecy  !  it  is  a  dull  cage  for  such 
a  pretty  bird ! "  Conrath  would  reply.  "  Never 
mind;  when  Shoshone  stock  is  up  to  thirty, 
we  '11  have  some  good  horses,  and  we  '11  go 
East  every  winter  and  have  our  friends  out 


THE  SHOSHONE  KITCHEN.         137 

here  in  summer,  —  and  a  dinner-party  twice 
a  week.  You  could  go  back  at  any  time, 
you  know,  if  you  're  getting  tired  of  it." 

"  You  know  I  don't  want  to  go  back,  or 
to  have  dinner-parties,  or  anything  like  that. 
I  only  wish  you  would  treat  me  more  — 
more  as  if  I  could  be  trusted  to  know  about 
things." 

"  About  what  things,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  About  your  troubles  with  the  Led-Horse. 
Have  they  blasted  through  ? " 

"  No,  they  have  n't  yet.  You  've  never  for 
gotten  that  barricade,  Cecy.  Now  you  see 
how  impossible  it  would  be  to  tell  you  things, 
as  you  say.  The  simplest  thing  would  seem  to 
you  quite  frightful.  Girls  ought  not  to  know 
what  is  going  on  in  a  place  like  this.  That 's 
one  reason  why  I  am  not  so  much  troubled 
about  your  loneliness.  It 's  better  for  you  not 
to  hear  all  the  gossip  of  the  camp,  —  it  would 
make  you  unhappy." 

This  was  the  most  intimate  conversation 
they  had  had  for  weeks.  A  few  days  after 
ward,  Molly  informed  her  mistress  that  the 
Led-Horse  had  blasted  through  on  a  level 
with  the  Shoshone  barricade.  Cecil  gave  a 


138  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

gasp  at  this  news.  Molly,  however,  assured 
her  that  everything  was  peaceable.  The  Led- 
Horse  had  no  guard,  and  no  barricade 
except  the  loose  rock  that  had  fallen  with  the 
last  blast ;  but  its  lawyers  had  gone  down  to 

the  session  of  the  district  court  at  D with 

important  testimony,  and  by  this  time  the 
injunction  was  virtually  granted.  That  was 
probably  the  reason  why  Conrath  had  turned 
so  silent,  and  was  busier  than  ever,  Cecil 
thought.  She  still  persisted  in  the  belief 
that  Gashwiler  was  responsible,  and  that  her 
brother  had  been  deceived  up  to  the  point 
of  a  distressing  awakening  from  his  costly 
delusion. 

It  was  nearly  the  middle  of  September. 
The  season  was  over,  when  daily  the  dry 
winds  whirled  across  the  porch,  shook  the 
loose  sash  and,  flinging  a  cloud  of  yellow  dust 
against  the  pane,  carried  their  rude  message 
from  house  to  house  of  the  little  settlement, 
and  on  along  the  white  road  to  the  camp. 
The  season  of  rains  was  over,  when  daily  the 
cold  showers  hurtled  on  the  roof,  and  blotted 
out  the  valley  ;  when  wild  flowers  blossomed 
on  the  pass,  and  lined  the  canons,  witli  a 


THE  SHO SHONE  KITCHEN.         139 

phantasmal  beauty.  The  late,  passionless 
summer  had  come  to  the  weary,  tempestuous 
year,  just  as  summer  elsewhere  was  taking 
her  leave.  Was  this  a  place  for  men,  Cecil 
murmured  to  herself  in  her  lonely  walks, 
where  even  the  grass,  that  commonest  vege 
table  joy,  gave  up  the  ghost  and  withered  in 
the  autumn,  as  sparse  and  feeble  as  in  the 
earliest  spring ! 

The  day  after  the  news  of  the  injunction, 
Cecil  resolved  once  more  to  approach  her 
brother  on  the  subject  of  his  troubles.  She 
lay  in  the  hammock,  which  was  stretched 
across  the  long  room,  her  slippered  feet  to 
the  fire,  the  light  from  the  low  window  shining 
on  the  top  of  her  cushioned  head,  listening 
for  the  clink  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the  frozen 
ground.  She  listened  and  waited,  until  sun 
set  faded  into  twilight  and  lamps  were  lit. 
Dinner  was  indefinitely  postponed,  and  Cecil 
took  a  slight  meal  and  a  lonely  cup  of  tea  by 
the  fire.  With  a  book  in  one  hand  she  read, 
and  sipped  her  tea  and  listened,  alternately. 
She  heard  the  outer  door  of  the  kitchen  shut ; 
silence  followed  —  absolute  silence  all  over 
the  house. 


140  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

It  was  very  strange  of  Molly  to  have  gone 
out  without  permission  at  that  hour,  leaving 
her  mistress  alone  in  the  house.  When  the 
girl  came  in,  fully  two  hours  afterward,  Cecil 
took  no  notice  of  her,  not  venturing  to  speak 
while  she  felt  hurt  and  vexed.  Molly,  how 
ever,  was  too  much  excited  to  remark  her 
mistress's  mood.  Her  hair  was  disordered, 
and  her  cheeks  were  flushed  and  shining  with 
wind-dried  tears.  She  came  straight  to  the 
fire,  kneeling  on  the  rug  and  asking,  in  a  loud 
whisper,  — 

"  Is  Mr.  Conrath  home  yet  ?  " 

"You  know  that  he  is  not,"  Cecil  replied 
without  looking  up  from  her  book. 

"  There 's  something  I  must  tell  you,  Miss 
Cecil,  if  I  was  to  leave  the  house  to-night ! " 

"  You  seem  to  have  done  that,  already, 
Molly,  without  regard  to  me." 

Then,  as  Molly  turned  her  face  away  and 
put  her  apron  to  her  eyes,  Cecil  abandoned 
her  attempt  at  dignity  and  leaned  toward  the 
girl  impulsively. 

"  Why,  Molly,  what  is  it  ?  "  she  said,  putting 
her  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  pulling  her 
toward  her.  "  What  are  you  crying  about  ?" 


THE  SHOSHONE  KITCHEN.         141 

Molly  put  down  her  apron. 

c'  You  've  a  right  to  know  it,  Miss,"  she 
sobbed,  "  if  it  is  your  own  brother  ;  and  Tom 
isn't  one  to  meddle  except  to  save  trouble. 
Mr.  Conrath,  maybe,  would  kill  me  for  speak- 
in'.  Gashwiler  would,  anyway  !  " 

"  Don't  run  on  so,  Molly !  Wait  a  minute 
and  tell  me  quietly  ;  and  don't  tell  me  any 
thing  but  the  truth." 

"  It 's  Mrs.  Gashwiler,  Miss,  that  it  comes 
from,  and  I  'd  believe  every  word,  for  she 's  an 
honest  woman,  though  as  hard  as  a  nail  — 
and  what  would  it  be  to  her  interest  ?  She 's 
got  the  same  grudge  as  her  man  has  against 
Mr.  West  and  Mr.  Hilgard.  It 's  little  she  'd 
care,  if  it  was  n't  for  Tom." 

Cecil  sat  helpless  under  the  confusion  of 
Molly's  words,  feeling,  in  her  suspense,  that 
they  were  fraught  only  with  misery. 

"  Tom  was  always  good  to  her  young  ones 
when  he  boarded  with  'em.  He  was  packin' 
the  little  lame  one  about  whenever  he  got  the 
chance,  and  she  's  never  forgot  it  of  him.  She 
heard  somethin'  one  night  between  her  man 
and  Mr.  Conrath.  She  was  wakin'  with  the 
toothache,  and  the  walls  is  nothin'  but  lath. 


142  THE  LED-HORSE^  CLAIM. 

She  would  n't  tell  Tom  what  it  was,  but  she 
got  at  him  to  leave  the  Led-Horse,  for  fear 
he  'd  get  into  trouble  along  with  it.  And  she 
made  him  promise  he  'd  never  tell  on  her. 
And  he  's  kep'  it  till  he  says  it  hangs  on  him 
that  heavy  that  he  's  bound  to  speak.  But 
it 's  to  you  he  bid  me  come  with  it.  He  '11  not 
go  to  one  o'  his  own  side,  but,  says  he,  4  Mrs. 
Gash  can't  complain  of  me  for  speaking  to 
Mr.  Conrath's  own  sister  ;  for  she  's  a  Sho- 
shone,  and  who  's  got  a  better  right  to  kno^r 
what  diviltry  he  's  up  to?'" 

"  Mr.  Conrath,  Molly  —  my  brother  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Conrath 's  in  it,  not  a  doubt  o'  that ; 
an'  it  means  trouble  to  the  Led-Horse,  or 
Gash's  wife  would  never  be  after  Tom  to  try 
to  get  him  out  of  it.  An'  he  won't  stir  for 
me,  Miss  !  He  '11  stick  by  his  own  side."  Here 
Molly's  sobs  broke  forth.  "  For  God's  sake, 
Miss  Cecil,  you'll  not  go  to  Mr.  Conrath 
with  it!" 

"  Molly,  whom  am  I  to  go  to  ?  "  Cecil's  lips 
were  white,  and  her  voice  had  sunk  almost  to 
a  whisper. 

"Go  to  Mr.  Hilgard,  Miss!  Tell  him  to 
look  out  for  himself  an'  for  them  that 's  under 


THE  SHOSHONE  KITCHEN.         143 

him,  an'  to  put  more  than  a  heap  o'  rocks  be 
tween  him  an'  Gashwiler's  barricade.  What 
good  '11  his  lawyers  do  him,  when  they  've 
jumped  him.  That 's  what  Tom  says,  Miss," 
Molly  went  on,  in  her  loud,  vehement  whis 
per.  "  He  says  they  're  gone,  if  the  law 
takes  holt ;  they  '11  have  to  pay  back  every 
dollar's  worth  of  ore  they  robbed  Mr.  Hilgard 
of,  an'  it  '11  ruin  them,"  cried  the  girl,  reck 
less  that  she  was  speaking  to  a  Shoshone. 
"  And  they  're  waiting  for  a  chance  to  jump 
the  mine.  '  They  '11  clean  her  out,'  says  Tom, 
'  before  ever  the  law  '11  give  it  back.'  " 

"  Molly,  do  you  ask  me  to  go  to  a  stranger 
to  warn  him  against  my  brother  ?  You  must 
be  crazy.  I  cannot  go  to  any  one  but  my 
brother.  I  shall  tell  him  nothing  that  you 
have  told  me.  I  am  not  going  to  betray  your 
brother.  I  will  ask  him  —  oh,  I  will  make  him 
give  it  all  up,  and  let  us  leave  this  place  ! " 

"  He  '11  never  do  it,  Miss  !  no  more  than 
Tom '11  leave  the  Led-Horse  for  me  askin' 
him." 

"  Molly,  please  go  away,  and  let  me  think 
about  it  by  myself.  You  are  a  good  girl  to 
come  to  me  ;  you  can  trust  me.  If  I  cannot 


144  THE  LED-I10RSE   CLAIM. 

do  any  good,  I  will  not  do  any  harm.  I  must 
see  my  brother  to-night.  If  it  is  no  use,  then 
we  will  think  of  some  other  way." 

The  two  girls  clung  to  each  other  with 
tears  running  down  their  cheeks. 

"  You  'd  be  speakin'  for  them  all,  Miss,  if 
you  went  to  Mr.  Hilgard.  Sure,  whatever 
hinders  a  fight  is  for  one  the  same  as  an 
other." 

"  How  could  it  hinder  anything  if  I  went 
to  Mr.  Hilgard?" 

"  If  he  'd  stop  his  lawin'  an'  put  five  good 
men  in  the  drift,  wid  a  barricade  in  front  of 
'em,  Gash  'd  never  touch  him !  That 's  what 
Tom  says." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  you  poor  child,  that 
Tom  knows  better  than  Mr.  Hilgard?" 

"  He  does,  Miss,  when  Mr.  Hilgard  don't 
know  what  I  'm  after  tellin'  you  !  " 

It  was  late  that  night  when  Conrath  re 
turned.  Cecil  sprang  up  quickly,  her  heart 
beating  hard  and  fast,  when  she  heard  his 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  wooden  bridge  leading 
to  the  stable.  From  the  sounds,  Conrath 
was  having  some  difficulty  in  forcing  his 
norse  over  the  narrow  passage.  There  were 


THE   SHOSHONE  KITCHEN.          145 

signs  of  obstinacy  and  nervousness  on  the 
part  of  the  horse,  and  of  temper  on  that  of 
the  rider.  As  the  plunging  and  backing  con 
tinued,  Cecil  became  alarmed.  She  ran  to 
Molly's  door  and  woke  her,  asking  for  Peter, 
the  stable-man. 

"  Why  does  n't  he  go  to  Mr.  Conrath?"  she 
demanded.  "  He  can't  get  Andy  over  the 
bridge." 

Molly  did  not  know  where  Peter  was,  and 
Cecil,  hearing  Andy  suddenly  clatter  across 
the  disputed  ground  and  stop  at  the  stable, 
went  back  herself,  shivering,  to  the  parlor. 

Conrath  was  a  long  time  getting  into  the 
house.  He  climbed  up  the  end  of  the  piazza, 
apparently  with  a  good  deal  of  trouble, 
bumping  his  knees  and  elbows  on  the  piazza 
floor,  in  his  progress. 

"  Why  doesn't  he  come  around  to  the  steps  ?  " 
Cecil  wondered.  "  It  must  be  very  dark." 

She  opened  the  door;  it  was  not  at  all 
dark.  The  moon  had  risen,  and  Conrath's 
shadow  was  thrown  up  against  the  side  of 
the  house,  as  he  came  along  the  piazza,  walk 
ing  with  a  heavy,  careful  step.  He  passed 

her  at  the  door,  neither  noticing  nor  speaking 
10 


146  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

to  her,  and,  crossing  the  room,  sank  into  a  seat 
by  the  fire,  without  removing  his  hat. 

He  slouched  in  his  chair,  in  a  helpless,  dis 
organized  attitude,  moving  his  eyes  vacantly 
from  her  face  to  his  own  hands,  which  hung 
feebly  in  his  lap. 

She  knelt  before  him,  without  touching 
him.  She  looked  long  in  her  brother's  face, 
studying,  with  intense,  heart-broken  scru 
tiny,  the  familiar  features,  over  which  some 
mysterious,  sickening  influence  had  passed. 
The  change  was  very  slight.  Mrs.  Denny 
would  have  understood  it  instantly.  Many 
of  Conrath's  friends  would  have  been  amused 
by  it.  Gradually  the  meaning  of  it  came  to 
Conrath's  sister,  but  it  did  not  amuse  her. 
She  recoiled  from  him  slowly,  rising  to  her 
feet,  a  cold,  incredulous  disgust  whitening 
her  cheeks  and  her  lips.  It  was  too  cruel  a 
mockery  of  her  reliance  on  him.  She  went 
away  to  her  room  and  hid  herself  from  the 
sight  of  him,  leaving  him  to  sleep  off  the 
effects  of  his  "  predilection  "  by  the  fire. 

Cecil  did  not  sleep ;  she  lay  in  the  dark- 
ness  hour  after  hour,  shuddering,  with  dry, 
convulsive  sobs.  The  trouble  she  had  looked 


THE  SHOSHONE  KITCHEN.         147 

in  the  face  that  night  she  knew  was  a 
wretchedly  common  one,  but  she  had  never 
believed  that  it  could  touch  her  own  life.  She 
reproached  herself  for  deserting  the  shabby 
figure  in  the  chair  before  the  fire,  but  to-night 
she  could  not  feel  that  it  was  her  brother.  If 
that  were  her  brother,  where  then  could  she 
look  for  help  ? 

She  made  no  effort  to  see  Conrath  the  next 
day  ;  in  fact,  she  kept  out  of  the  way  of  see 
ing  him  until  he  had  left  the  house.  At  noon, 
she  went  to  Molly  with  a  note  and  asked  her 
to  see  that  Mr.  Hilgard  received  it  promptly. 

"  You  must  give  it  to  him  yourself,  Molly, 
or  to  Mr.  West." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Cecil,"  said  Molly,  tak 
ing  the  note. 

"  It  may  not  do  any  good,"  the  girl  said 
wearily,  "  and  I  am  not  doing  it  for  you  any 
more  than  for  myself." 

"  Did  you  sleep  any  the  night,  Miss  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  sleep  ?  Did  you  sleep  your 
self,  Molly?" 

u  I  did,  Miss  ;  but  the  heart  of  me  was 
wakin'  and  dreamin.'  1  dreamt  Mr.  Conrath 
was  a  draggin'  you  over  the  bridge,  an'  him 


148  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

on  Andy ;  an'  you  was  pullin'  back,  but  he 
had  you  by  the  hand  an'  would  n't  let  go." 

"It  is  easy  to  see  how  you  came  to  dream 
that,  Molly,"  said  Cecil,  a  slow,  painful  blush 
burning  itself  upon  her  cheek.  "  Do  you  re 
member  my  knocking  at  your  door  ?  " 

"  Did  you,  Miss  ?     Last  night,  was  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  last  night ;  and  it  was  Andy, 
not  I,  who  would  n't  go  over  the  bridge.  My 
brother  would  not  have  to  drag  me,  if  he 
wanted  me  to  follow  him  anywhere." 

Cecil  kept  by  herself  all  day.  She  could 
not  bear  even  Molly's  eyes  upon  her,  while 
she  was  learning  to  bear  the  first  pressure  of 
the  new  and  ignominious  grief,  which  she  had 
put  on  like  a  garment  of  penitence  under  the 
soft  robes  of  her  girlhood. 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.    149 


IX. 

BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND   DARK. 

THE  sun  was  just  below  the  Shoshone  hill. 
The  black,  denuded  pines  on  the  hill-top 
leaned  toward  each  other,  or  stood  erect 
against  the  yellow  light  that  streamed  up 
ward  and  broadened  outward,  through  a  thin, 
gray  cloud  that  overspread  the  western  sky. 

Cecil  was  hurrying  down  the  unused  trail, 
to  meet  Hilgard  at  the  blazed  trees.  She 
felt  they  would  be  safe  there  from  interrup 
tion.  Her  heart  was  too  heavy  to  flutter 
with  girlish  doubts  and  tremors.  She  sped 
along,  beating  back  with  her  rapid  footsteps 
the  folds  of  her  sombre  cloth  dress. 

Hilgard  was  waiting  for  her,  walking  about 
impatiently,  one  hand  in  the  side  pocket  of 
his  closely  buttoned  pea-jacket,  the  other 
holding  the  cigarette  he  was  mechanically 
smoking.  She  had  kept  him  waiting  three 
quarters  of  an  hour;  he  was  feeling  half 


150  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

angry  and  cheated,  and  altogether  disaj> 
pointed,  when  he  saw  her  coming,  among  the 
gray-stemmed  aspens,  that  were  dropping  all 
their  pale  gold  leaves  in  the  grasp  of  the 
autumn  winds.  He  started  toward  her  at 
once,  forgetting  his  grievance  at  the  first 
sight  of  her  face.  She  explained  hurriedly 
that  some  ladies  from  the  camp  had  called 
and  detained  her. 

"  You  know  it  is  only  trouble  that  brings 
me  here." 

He  restrained  some  passionate  exclamation, 
and  said,  as  humbly  and  quietly  as  he  could,  — 

"  I  knew,  of  course,  it  was  not  for  your 
own  pleasure  or  mine." 

"  And  you  must  have  known  it  was  the 
old  trouble  —  between  the  mines,"  she  went 
on,  without  heeding  his  words.  "  I  have 
thought  of  a  way  that  might  make  things 
less  —  less  unhappy."  She  hesitated,  and  he 
waited  for  her  to  explain, 

"  I  have  been  told  that  you  are  likely  to 
get  the  injunction  against  my  —  against  the 
Shoshone ;  there  will  be  claims  for  damages 
against  us  which  may  be  hard  to  settle  —  " 

"  Against  you  —  great  Heavens !    They  are 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.   151 

not  my  claims,  and  they  are  not  against  your 
brother.  Can't  you  make  it  more  imper 
sonal?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot,"  she  said,  gently  ; 
"  our  side  has  been  in  the  wrong.  I  believe 
that  now.  It  is  right  that  you  should 
triumph." 

"  Why  will  you  call  it  my  triumph  ?  If 
you  could  have  the  faintest  idea  what  I'm 
paying  for  it !  " 

"  It  is  your  triumph,  and  you  will  be  as 
sociated  with  it  if  you  stay  to  see  it  finished. 
And  the  failure  and  disgrace  will  be  asso 
ciated  with  —  my  brother.  Wait  a  moment, 
please  — "  She  put  her  hand  up  to  the  black 
scarf  that  swathed  her  throat,  as  if  to  still 
the  "  climbing  sorrow  "  there.  "  I  have  not 
come  to  apologize  for  my  brother,  but  —  I  — 
I  believe  he  has  been  deceived !  He  has  had 
bad  counsel.  This  is  the  first  —  first —  " 

She  could  not  go  on,  and  Hilgard  bowed 
his  head  before  her. 

"  I  am  sure  he  has,"  she  began  again,  in  her 
voice  of  stifled  misery.  "  And  this  person 
who  I  think  has  betrayed  him,  is  an  enemy 
of  yours.  I  am  sure  of  that  too.  He  is  a 


152  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

man  with  an  old  grudge  against  you,  and 
against  your  mine.  No  one  can  tell  how 
much  this  may  have  been  with  him  in  his 
influence  over  my  brother.  He  might  never 
have  shown  it.  Don't  you  see  how  it  might 
embitter  a  dispute  like  this,  and  make  it  per 
sonal,  and  how  much  harder  it  would  make 
the  settlement?  The  triumph  of  your  side 
would  be  very  hard  for  your  enemy  to  bear. 
You  would  be  hated." 

"  These  old  grudges  are  not  so  dangerous 
as  you  think ;  men  hold  them  till  they  get 
used  to  them,  and  take  a  certain  satisfaction 
in  them.  I  think  I  know  the  man  you  speak 
of,  but  there  are  a  great  many  men  in  the 
camp  with  grudges  against  me.  One  expects 
that  in  a  place  of  this  kind." 

"  You  don't  see  what  I  mean,"  she  said, 
with  a  despairing  sigh.  "  I  want  you  to  re 
move  part  of  the  cause  of  this  trouble,  before 
the  time  for  the  final  settlement  comes." 

"  You  want  me  to  remove  myself  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,  I  want  you  to  go  away  and  let  some 
one  else  come  to  do  that  part.  Then  it  will 
be  only  between  the  mines." 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.   153 

"  You  ask  me  to  resign  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  she  repeated,  with  sad  per 
sistence. 

The  words  struck  to  the  very  core  of  his 
weakness.  He  had  himself  pondered  the  joy 
less  situation  and  counted  the  cost  of  its  is 
sues.  The  injunction  was  certain  to  be  granted, 
and  the  suit  for  damages  could  but  develop 
either  inefficiency  on  Conrath's  part,  or  a  de 
liberately  dishonorable  policy.  If  that  policy 
had  been  successful,  it  was  not  likely  that  any 
questions  would  have  been  asked  at  the  Sho- 
shone  home  office ;  but  unsuccessful  rascality 
was  not  likely  to  find  favor  even  with  Con- 
rath' s  "  company."  The  triumph  of  the  Led- 
Horse  would  be  complete.  The  arrears  of  its 
expenses  could  be  paid  out  of  the  Shoshone 
ore-bins.  Hilgard's  own  infatuated  tenacity, 
as  it  had  probably  seemed  to  his  president, 
would  be  justified,  —  and  then  ?  He  would 
go  on  living  on  his  barren  hill,  with  his  hid 
den  loss  and  defeat  burdening  his  spirit.  The 
triumph  would  still  be  Conrath's,  through  his 
sister.  But  if  now,  at  this  point  in  the  con 
test,  with  the  cause  of  the  Led-Horse  safe  in 
the  hands  of  the  law,  he  might  step  out  and 
escape  the  odium  of  success ! 


154  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

She  stood  by  the  blazed  pine,  pressing  her 
ungloved  hands  hard  against  its  corrugated 
trunk,  and  looking  at  him  with  an  imploring 
suspense  in  her  eyes.  It  was  more  than  youth 
and  passion  could  bear. 

"  Cecil,"  he  said,  trying  to  steady  his  low 
accents  as  he  spoke  her  name  for  the  first 
time,  "  there  is  only  one  reason  why  I  should 
do  this.  I  have  no  real  enemies  except  those 
who  keep  me  from  you.  If  you  will  ask  me 
to  go  for  your  sake,  I  will  go  to-night.  Do 
you  ask  me  to  go  in  that  way  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  ask  it,  —  I  ask  it !  What  does  it 
matter  how  I  ask  it  ?  What  does  anything 
matter  ? " 

"  But  it  matters  all  the  world  to  me  !  I  am 
not  doing  this  for  fear  of  any  man's  hatred, 
but  for  love  of  you.  I  have  no  business  to  go 
—  my  place  is  here  until  everything  is  settled, 
^ut  if  a  scruple  is  to  cost  me  my  life's  happi 
ness,  —  it  is  too  much  to  pay.  Shall  I  go  for 
you,  my  love  ?" 

"  Do  I  ask  you  too  much  ?  Is  it  a  sacrifice 
of  your  honor  ?  " 

Her  eyes  still  pleaded,  although  she  forced 
herself  to  give  him  a  chance  for  retreat. 


BETWEEN    DAYLIGHT   AND    DARK. 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.  155 

"Don't  ask  me  now.  I  don't  know  what 
honor  is.  I  only  know  what  love  is.  I  will 
go  for  you." 

He  took  her  hands,  with  the  print  of  the 
rugged  pine-bark  on  their  tender  palms,  and 
held  them  up  to  his  face  and  laid  them  about 
his  neck.  They  clung  there  a  moment.  Her 
heavy  hat  fell  back,  and  her  fair,  unsheltered 
head  drooped  against  the  rough  folds  of  his 
coat. 

"  If  I  should  go,  how  will  it  be  when  we 
meet  again  ?  I  shall  not  be  on  the  other  side, 
then  ? " 

"  No,"  she  murmured. 

"  You  will  come  to  me,  whatever  side  I  am 
on?" 

«  Yes." 

"  I  have  your  promise,  Cecil  ? " 

"  Yes,  unless  —  " 

"  No,  nothing  but  your  promise  !  " 

Her  arms  slipped  down. 

"  But  a  great  deal  may  happen  before  we 
meet  again  —  " 

"  Yes,  but  when,  or  where,  or  how  we  meet, 
you  are  mine,  dearest,  remember  !  " 

"  Have  I  promised  that  ? " 


156  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  That,  or  nothing.  Don't  play  with  me, 
Cecil.  Either  you  mean  it,  or  you  do  not.  I 
am  in  dead  earnest.  There  is  no  reason  for 
my  going,  except  that  you  ask  me,  —  the  girl 
I  love  !  " 

"  You  must  go,"  she  said,  pushing  him 
from  her.  "  You  are  going  to-night !  " 

"  To-night !     But  why  to-night  ?  " 

"  Please,  please  go  !  I  want  you  to  go  to 
night.  I  shall  not  dare  to  be  happy  until  you 
are  gone." 

"  I  might  go,"  he  said,  doubtfully, "  if  there 
is  time."  Mi  .  ,  ,  , 

"There  is  plenty  of  time — you  said  you 
would  go  to-night.  When  the  train  goes  out, 
will  you  be  on  it,  George  ? " 

She  let  him  kiss  her  hands  and  draw  from 
her  finger  a  little  ring,  —  a  slight,  school 
girl  token ;  she  scarcely  knew  what  he  was 
doing. 

"  I  want  something  to  make  it  seem  true. 
You  have  always  been  such  a  hopeless  dream. 
Is  it  true  ? "  he  whispered,  passionately. 
"  Am  I  sure  of  you,  darling  ? " 

Not  so  sure  but  that,  in  a  moment,  she 
had  slipped  out  of  his  arms  and  was  running 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.  157 

away  in  the  gathering  dusk,  that  made  her 
figure  almost  one  with  the  dun  hillside.  He 
had  nothing  but  her  ring  clasped  in  his  hand. 
He  turned  away,  trembling  and  half  stupefied. 
His  foot  struck  one  of  the  low,  gray  monu 
ment  stones,  and  he  staggered  forward,  saving 
himself,  with  a  heavy  jar,  against  a  tree-trunk. 
Recovering  from  the  shock,  he  missed  the 
ring.  He  searched  for  it  long,  stooping  and 
groping  about  on  the  rough  ground,  sifted  over 
with  trodden  pine-needles.  At  last,  when 
twilight  settled  darkly  in  the  hollow  of  the 
hills,  he  gave  up  his  quest  and  took  the  home 
ward  path,  a  pang  of  bereavement  chilling 
his  new-born  bliss. 

He  went  to  his  office,  wrote  two  or  three 
letters  and  telegrams,  and  from  the  drawers 
and  pigeon-holes  of  his  desk  he  collected  a 
number  of  papers  and  note-books,  which  he 
placed  in  a  heap  on  the  lid.  He  then  went 
deliberately  around  the  room,  picking  up 
various  articles,  in  preparation  for  his  pack 
ing.  With  all  these  in  one  arm,  he  was  about 
to  put  out  the  lamp,  when  he  saw  a  sealed 
telegram  lying  on  the  floor  behind  his  desk. 
It  might  have  been  blown  off  when  he  opened 


158  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

the  door.  It  was  with  a  strange  reluctance 
he  put  down  his  burden  and  opened  the  tele 
gram.  The  spirit  of  the  change  was  upon 
him.  He  was  impatient  to  be  gone.  At 

D he  would  see  his  lawyers  and  leave 

with  them  certain  directions  and  papers  for 
the  forthcoming  trial,  write  his  farewells  to  his 
few  friends  in  the  camp  from  there,  and  start 
eastward  at  once.  His  formal  resignation  lay 
on  the  desk,  directed  to  his  president. 

The  telegram  was  from  Wilkinson.  It  read : 
"  Thrown  out  of  court  by  technicality.  Look 
out  for  jumpers." 

He  read  the  message  over  two  or  three  times, 
then  folded  it  and  placed  it  in  a  note-book 
which  he  took  from  the  breast  of  his  coat. 
He  did  not  take  up  his  armful  of  properties 
again,  but  sat.  down  by  the  desk,  looking 
fixedly  at  the  sealed  letters  before  him.  If 
temptation  had  been  strong  with  him  in  the 
gulch,  it  was  stronger  now  that  he  had  yielded 
the  first  step  ;  and  if  his  happiness  had  seemed 
at  stake  before,  there  were  possibilities  in  this 
new  situation  which  made  his  heart  stand  still. 

"  No,  by  heaven ! "  he  exclaimed,  pushing 
back  his  chair.  "  I  Ve  gone  far  enough.  Let 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.    159 

them  get  some  one  else  to  do  police  duty  for 
them ! " 

Nevertheless,  he  took  up  his  letter  to  the 
president  and  tossed  it  into  the  fire.  The 
other  letters  and  telegrams  followed.  This 
was  no  time  for  resignations.  He  would  see 
West  at  once. 

On  inquiry,  West  was  not  to  be  seen.  He 
had  gone  down  to  the  camp.  Hilgard  went 
to  his  room,  pulled  open  his  bureau  drawers, 
arid  began  shoving  various  articles  hastily 
into  a  travelling-bag.  He  sat  on  the  side  of 
his  bed,  with  the  bag  between  his  knees. 
When  it  was  packed,  he  still  sat  motionless 
in  the  same  position,  rigid  with  the  silent 
struggle  that  possessed  him. 

A  knock  came  at  the  door  of  the  outer 
room.  It  was  unlighted,  except  by  the  broad 
glow  of  the  fire.  Hilgard  opened  to  West, 
just  returned  from  the  camp. 

"  Come  in,  West,  I  want  to  see  you." 

"  I  want  to  see  you,  sir." 

While  Hilgard  hunted  for  Wilkinson's  tele 
gram  in  his  pocket-book,  West  produced  a 
scrap  of  gray  hardware  paper,  and  held  it 
out  to  his  chief. 


160  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

"  Just  look  at  that,  sir.  I  picked  it  up  to 
night  on  the  counter  at  Bolton  &  Trivet's." 

Hilgard  stooped,  and  held  the  paper  to  the 
fire-light,  while  West,  turning  round,  with  his 
lean,  chilled  brown  hands  behind  him,  spread 
their  palms  to  the  warmth. 

The  paper  bore  a  memorandum  made  with 
a  broad,  soft  pencil. 

800  Car. 
50  Win. 

Shoshone. 

Hilgard  produced  his  telegram  and  handed 
it  with  the  paper  to  West. 

u  There  you  are,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir.  There 's  the  whole  infernal 
business,"  West  replied,  as  he  studied  the  tele 
gram.  "  It  shows  what  they  think  of  us,"  he 
added,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  They  dassent  try 
it  on  with  less  than  fifty  Winchesters." 

"  You  can't  make  anything  else  out  of  it, 
West  ? " 

"  There  ain't  anything  else  to  make.  It 's 
an  old  game !  I  've  more  'n  half  expected  it. 
I  looked  round  a  little,  while  I  was  down  to 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.    161 

the  camp,"  he  continued,  in  his  slow,  quiet 
drawl,  "  and  got  track  o'  some  boys  that  I 
can  depend  on.  Told  'em  they  'd  better  come 
along  up  soon  's  they  could.  They  '11  come 
all  fixed.  If  you  don't  like  it,  sir,  it  won't 
make  a  bit  o'  difference  to  them.  They  can 
keep  their  mouths  shut." 

"  It's  all  right  — it 's  the  only  way." 

Hilgard  stepped  back  and  closed  the  bed 
room  door  on  his  preparations  for  departure. 
West  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  toe  of  his  extended  boot,  which 
he  grated  back  and  forth  on  the  bricks  of  the 
hearth.  He  did  not  lift  his  eyes  as  Hilgard 
came  toward  him  again,  but  remarked  to  the 
toe  of  his  boot,  — 

"  Wish  you  'd  git  out  of  the  camp.  To-night 
ain't  any  too  soon.  You  can  trust  the  Old 
Horse  to  me,  sir  !  I  '11  hold  her  in  spite  of 
hell ! "  He  looked  up  now,  with  a  keen  gleam 
lighting  his  blue  eyes.  "  Damn  it,  you  've  got 
friends  in  the  East !  " 

"I  have  one  friend  here,  it  seems,"  said 
Hilgard. 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  faces, 
silently. 

11 


162  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

"We'll  hold  her  together,  West ! — Come, 
there  's  no  time  to  talk !  " 

At  twelve  o'clock  that  night,  West  and 
Hilgard  were  hurrying  over  the  frozen  ground 
toward  the  shaft-house.  The  old  moon  had 
risen  with  a  circle  round  her  imperfect  disk. 
Long,  white  clouds  were  banked  in  the  south 
ern  sky,  and  there  was  a  chill  foreboding  of 
snow  in  the  air. 

"She  hasn't  shut  down,"  West  remarked, 
looking  across  the  gulch  toward  the  Sho- 
shone. 

"  Very  likely  she  won't ;  it 's  a  good  blind 
for  us,  and  she  has  men  enough.  They 
must  have  noticed  that  we  are  all  quiet  over 
here." 

u  I  took  care  of  that,  sir.  1  told  Tom  Ryan 
to  give  out,  kind  o'  promisc'us,  down  to  the 
boardin'-house,  that  we  're  in  a  kind  of  a 
scrape  over  here  —  pump  broke  down.  He  's 
always  jawin'  back  and  forth  with  'em." 

"  West,  I  wish  you  had  n't  done  that,"  Hil 
gard  said,  sharply. 

West  replied  with  some  heat,  — 

u  Good  Lord!     They  're  five  to  one  —  ain't 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.   163 

yhat  enough  ?  If  they  want  to  try  it  on,  let  'ena 
try  it  to-night !  " 

There  was  an  ominous  stillness  in  the  Led- 
Horse  shaft-house.  The  low  moon  looked  in 
through  the  bare,  dusty  windows,  where  a 
group  of  men  with  rifles  slanted  between  their 
knees  sat  around  an  old  cast-iron  stove.  The 
engine  was  silent.  The  only  sounds  in  the 
dim  place  were  the  steady  boring  of  an  auger 
in  the  hands  of  some  person  unseen,  and  the 
fire,  leaping  and  roaring  in  the  stove,  which 
had  flushed  a  sullen  red,  and  emitted  sharp 
lines  of  light  through  its  cracks.  The  auger 
stopped  boring  as  Hilgard  and  West  entered. 
There  was  a  shoving  of  gun-stocks  and  of 
heavy  boots  on  the  gritty  floor,  but  no  one 
spoke. 

Hilgard  looked  about  him  at  the  hasty 
preparations  for  defence.  The  iron  plates  of 
the  platforms  had  been  taken  up  and  turned 
on  edge  against  the  thin  board  walls.  Loaded 
ore-cars,  taken  from  the  tracks,  barricaded 
the  weakest  points.  The  auger  had  been  bor 
ing  loop-holes  in  the  sides  of  the  shaft-house,, 
above  the  line  of  protection. 

"  We  've  got  you  pretty  well  fixed,  up  here, 
boys,  if  they  should  make  a  rush  on  top." 


164  THE  LED-HOESE   CLAIM. 

"  They'll  be  fools  to  try  it,"  West  remarked 
aside.  "  You  can't  shove  a  lot  of  ten-dollar 
fighters  against  an  armed  shaft-house  !  " 

"  West,  send  those  six  men  down  the  lad 
ders.  We  '11  take  the  bucket,"  the  superin 
tendent  ordered. 

"  I  reckoned  I  could  hold  the  drift  alone, 
with  a  Winchester,"  West  ventured,  in  his 
most  indifferent  voice.  "  A  Winchester 's 
mighty  comprehensive ! " 

Hilgard's  eye  was  on  him,  but  he  carefully 
avoided  it.  There  was  an  imperceptible  stir 
of  appreciation  among  the  men  around  the 
stove. 

"  Two  Winchesters  will  be  more  comprehen 
sive  than  one.  The  fight  will  be  there  !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  go  down,  sir,"  said 
West,  almost  shyly. 

" That's  enough  about  that,  West."  Hil- 
gard  turned  to  the  men.  "  Murtagh,  take 
care  of  the  boys  up  here.  Lower  us  away !  " 

At  the  word,  Hilgard  and  West  each 
grasped  the  rope  and  stepped,  with  a  quick, 
concerted  movement,  to  the  edge  of  the 
bucket ;  standing  so,  face  to  face,  firmly 
balanced,  with  rifle  in  one  hand  and  the 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK.   165 

shuddering  rope  in  the  other,  the  two  men 
dropped  out  of  sight  into  the  black  hole.  The 
rope  swung  in  wider  circles ;  it  slapped  two 
or  three  times  against  the  sides  of  the  shaft ; 
the  click  of  the  brake  sounded. 

"  They  're  down,"  some  one  said. 

The  droning  auger  began  boring  again. 
One  of  the  men  by  the  stove  drew  his  gun 
across  his  knees,  looked  critically  at  the  bar 
rel,  wiped  it  with  his  sleeve,  and  said,  — 

"Hope  they  won't  come  up  in  the  bucket 
with  \  coat  over  'em." 


166  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 


X. 

CONEATH    COMES   HOME. 

A  YOUNG  girl's  mood  seldom  keeps  the 
balance  between  joy  and  pain ;  it  will  lean, 
with  all  the  emotional  force  of  her  crescent 
life,  alternately  to  one  extreme  or  the  other. 
Cecil's  brief  calendar  of  years  had  counted 
no  vigil  like  that  of  the  night  before ;  it  was 
but  natural  there  should  be  a  strong  recoil 
from  such  intolerable  pain.  She  did  not  feel 
the  reaction  until  long  after  her  tryst  with 
Hilgard  was  over.  Her  timid  joy  in  that  con 
tract  was  not  quick  to  assert  itself.  It  grew 
with  solemn  gladness  in  the  quiet  hours,  and 
met  with  its  warm,  strong  current,  the  bitter 
waters  that  had  spread  in  the  watches  of  the 
night,  laying  waste  her  pride  of  life.  Her 
pride  was  prostrate  still,  but  love  can  do 
much  to  heal  the  wounds  of  youthful  pride. 

Cecil  walked,  with  noiseless  step,  back  and 
forth  the  length  of  the  fire-lit  room ;  her 


CON  RATH  COMES  HOME.  167 

shadow,  mounting  the  low  walls  to  the  ceiling, 
followed  her  with  grotesque  exaggerations  of 
her  movements.  She  was  alone,  but  to-night 
she  felt  no  loneliness.  Since  she  had  first 
seen  him  she  had  never  permitted  herself  to 
think  of  Hilgard.  But  now  her  eyes  drooped, 
and  blushes  burned  on  her  cheeks,  rebuking 
the  vision  that  answered  her  thoughts  too 
vividly.  Something  in  his  image,  as  it  came 
before  her  that  night,  troubled  her.  Was  it 
his  beauty,  that  seemed  fit  rather  for  a  pa 
geant  of  love  than  for  love's  unseen  abnega 
tions  ?  Was  it  the  contrast  between  Hilgard' s 
knightly  integrity  and  her  brother's  shabby 
part  in  life  ?  She  had  clothed  herself  in 
Conrath's  weakness  and  humiliation,  as  in 
a  robe  of  mourning.  Would  her  lover  accept 
her  in  her  weeds  ?  Could  her  future  include 
both  Hilgard  and  her  brother  ? 

The  struggle  was  over  in  which  she  had 
tried  to  preserve  her  loyalty  to  Conrath's 
cause  in  the  face  of  a  growing  conviction  that 
he  was  in  the  wrong.  She  found  a  certain 
rest  in  admitting  the  truth  and  falling  back 
on  the  next  lower  level  of  womanly  faith, 
that  he  had  been  deceived  to  the  last.  Now 


168  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

there  would  be  no  more  talk  of  mine  and 
thine.  Conrath  would  go  East ;  he  could  not 
desire  to  stay  when  this  wretched  business  was 
over.  There,  among  safer  conditions,  with  old 
friends  around  him,  he  would  regain  his  old 
life.  She  could  find  merciful  excuses  for  him 
in  the  past.  They  had  been  two  motherless 
children,  constantly  changed  about  from  one 
temporary  home  to  another,  and  from  one 
boarding-school  to  another,  until  school  days 
were  over.  She  had  known  but  little  of  her 
brother's  life  in  the  interval  between  his 
school  days  and  the  marriage  of  their  father, 
which  had  made  the  brother  and  sister  more 
dependent  on  each  other.  That  marriage 
had  not  given  them  a  mother;  it  had  only 
separated  them  a  little  more  from  their  father. 
It  was  then  Conrath  had  made  himself  his 
sister's  protector  and  provider.  How  proud 
she  had  been  of  his  new  honors  and  responsi 
bilities,  and  how  grateful  for  the  home  he  had 
brought  her  to !  She  stopped,  in  that  terror 
of  the  future  and  its  incompatibility  with  the 
past,  which  chilled  her  dreams  of  happiness. 
How  could  they  ever  be  reconciled  ? 

At  bedtime  Peter  came  in  with  an  armful 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  169 

of  heavy  green  logs  for  the  fire.  Cecil  went 
into  the  kitchen  and  said  good-night  to  Molly, 
who  was  dozing  over  a  novel  by  the  stove ; 
she  fastened  the  doors,  wound  the  clock,  and 
curled  herself  into  the  hammock,  wrapped 
in  a  Navajo  blanket.  She  left  the  curtains 
undrawn,  —  a  custom  in  the  camp,  that  the 
house  might  not  be  dark  to  a  friend  outside. 
She  would  watch  these  last  hours,  until  the 
train  went  out,  and  bid  her  lover  a  silent, 
prayerful  good-speed. 

She  swung  herself  gently  to  and  fro,  watch 
ing  the  shadows  in  the  room,  chased  by  the 
flame-flashes.  The  hammock  swung  slower 
and  slower.  One  arm  dropped  over  its  side ; 
the  warm,  relaxed  hand  softly  unclosed ;  the 
long  shadow  wavering  on  the  carpet  rested, 
and  Cecil  slept. 

The  fire  flamed  and  crackled  and  smoul 
dered  down.  The  sky  thickened,  and  the 
stars  struggled  to  keep  their  lookout  above 
the  restless  lights  of  the  camp.  The  windows 
of  peaceful,  frugal  homes  were  dark,  but  lights 
burned  still  in  the  house  of  sickness,  in  the 
house  of  revelry,  and  in  the  house  of  death. 
Underground,  where  day  and  night  a*^  inter. 


170  THE  LEB-HORSE   CLAIM. 

changeable,  the  ceaseless  labor  went  on.  The 
night  traffic  of  the  camp  went  on ;  late  foot 
steps  sounded  on  the  resonant  board  side 
walks.  Watchers  by  lonely  prospect-holes 
renewed  their  fires. 

The  moon  rose  above  the  hill  across  the 
gulch,  and  looked  in  through  the  window,  — 
a  sinister  old  moon,  leaning  with  one  cheek 
awry  above  a  ragged  pillow  of  cloud.  She 
knew  the  strifes  and  the  secrets  of  the  camp. 
She  looked  in  many  uncurtained  windows 
that  night,  upon  many  sleepers  and  many 
who  longed  for  sleep,  and  upon  many  to 
whom  such  fair,  innocent  sleep  as  Cecil's 
would  never  come  again.  The  young  girl  lay 
alone  in  the  shadowy  room  and  slept,  while 
the  night  waned,  unconscious  of  the  drear  pro 
cession  of  to-morrows  that  awaited  the  cold, 
beckoning  finger  of  daylight.  She  slept,  while 
across  the  gulch,  in  another  shadowy  room, 
the  defenders  of  the  Led-Horse  sat,  with 
their  rifles  across  their  knees,  in  a  fateful 
silence. 

A  log  parted,  and  fell,  and  rolled  forward 
on  the  hearth,  filling  the  room  with  smoke. 
Cecil  woke  and  rose  up  to  mend  the  fire, 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  171 

opening  the  door  to  let  the  smoke  escape. 
She  stood  a  moment  looking  out.  It  came 
to  her  with  a  shudder,  how  in  that  same  low 
light  the  night  before  she  had  waited  at  the 
door  for  her  brother's  heavy  step,  and  she 
prayed  that  he  might  not  come  home  that 
way  to-night. 

At  that  moment,  the  eastward-bound  train 
went  clanging  and  rumbling  out  of  the  town  ; 
its  roar  was  deadened  now  in  the  deep  cut, 
now  loud  again  below  the  hill,  dying  gradually 
on  the  long  grades  of  the  first  descent.  He 
was  gone.  Thank  God  for  that !  But  what 
was  this  unwonted  stillness  of  the  night  ? 
What  sound  did  she  miss  from  those  familiar 
daily  and  nightly  sounds  she  had  ceased  to 
listen  for  in  their  continuousness  ?  She  lis 
tened  now,  and  her  own  pulses  throbbed, 
heavy  and  fast,  as  it  came  to  her  that  the 
pulse  of  the  Shoshone  had  stopped  beating. 
Its  engine  was  silent,  and  from  the  opposite 
hill  there  came  not  a  sound.  Both  mines 
were  dumb. 

Cecil's  first  impulse  was  to  waken  Molly 
and  send  her  to  the  shaft-house  for  news,  but 
she  forbore.  "  Let  her  sleep,  poor  girl,"  she 


172  THE  LED-HOESE   CLAIM. 

thought, "  it  may  mean  trouble  for  her  as  well 
as  for  me." 

She  shrank  from  going  out  herself  to  meet 
whatever  event  might  be  coming.  She  waited 
an  hour,  —  an  hour  of  hopeless  expectation. 

It  was  now  three  o'clock.  The  night  had 
changed ;  fleecy  moving  clouds  pervaded  the 
sky,  and  the  moon,  wading  through  them  as 
through  drifted  snow,  occasionally  showed  a 
bright  segment  of  her  disk. 

She  heard  footsteps  approaching  the  house, 
treading  slowly  over  the  frozen  mud.  They 
paused  near  the  end  of  the  piazza,  and  low 
voices  of  men  spoke  together.  Then  a  single 
tread  went  quickly  around  the  house  to  the 
outer  door  of  the  kitchen. 

Cecil  rose  up,  wan  as  a  star  at  daybreak. 
The  first  knock  came,  —  low,  repeated  with 
brief  pauses,  as  if  the  knocker  listened  for 
some  stir  within  the  house. 

The  footsteps  outside  moved  forward  to 
ward  the  steps  of  the  porch,  —  a  horrible, 
four-footed  human  tread, —  shuffling  nearer, 
heavily  mounting  the  steps,  grating  across  the 
floor  of  the  porch,  —  pausing  at  the  door. 
Something  was  laid  down  at  the  very  thresh 
old  of  that  door. 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  173 

She  could  not  go  and  open  it. 

The  knocking  continued.  A  man's  step 
passed  along  the  porch  and  a  face  looked  in 
at  the  window,  —  looked  in  Cecil's  face  and 
started  back. 

Slowly  she  dragged  herself  the  length  of 
the  long  room  and  felt  her  way  through  the 
dark  passage  to  the  kitchen. 

The  knocking  was  loud  on  the  outer  door. 
She  crept  to  the  door  of  Molly's  room  and 
heard  the  girl  moving,  and  her  low  voice 
speaking  from  the  window  to  one  outside. 

"  Whist,  for  God's  sake  !    I  'm  comin' !  " 

She  clung  helplessly  to  the  door,  and  Molly, 
opening  it,  took  her  in,  and  half  carried  her 
to  the  bed.  She  pressed  her  down  into  it, 
and  covered  her  deep  under  the  bedclothes. 

"  Lie  still !  Don't  stir  till  I  come,"  she 
whispered,  with  her  warm  cheek  laid  upon 
Cecil's. 

"  Molly,  the  engines  have  stopped !  I  must 
go  myself !  It  is  for  me  !  "  Cecil  tried  to  rise 
in  the  bed. 

"  Whatever  it  is  you  '11  know  soon  enough  ! 
I  '11  come  to  you  with  it,  Miss  Cecil,  dear." 

Molly  shut  the  bedroom  door  behind  her, 


174  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

opened  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  and  spoke  with 
some  one  outside.  Cecil  heard  her  close  the 
door  again,  and  heard  the  footsteps  outside  re 
turning  around  the  house  to  the  porch.  Molly 
went  on  through  the  kitchen,  carefully  closing 
all  the  doors  behind  her,  as  if  the  sounds  in 
the  house  were  a  pestilent  wind  from  which 
she  would  protect  her  mistress. 

Cecil,  lying  alone  in  the  dark  room,  be 
numbed  by  the  keenness  of  her  anguished 
dread,  fell  off  into  a  half-unconscious  dream 
of  some  hovering  horror.  Suddenly  she 
sprang  up.  Molly  was  bending  over  her.  A 
candle  on  a  stand  showed  the  girl's  face 
plainly.  Cecil  asked  no  questions.  She  rose 
from  the  bed,  and,  holding  Molly's  hand,  fol 
lowed  her  in  silence  back  through  kitchen  and 
passage  to  the  parlor. 

Three  miners  stood  with  their  backs  to  the 
fire.  They  took  off  their  hats  as  the  women 
entered,  and  one  of  them,  a  smooth-cheeked 
young  fellow,  meeting  Cecil's  eyes,  turned 
away  his  own,  and  rubbed  one  arm  hastily 
across  his  face. 

That  which  she  had  dreaded  to  see  was  not 
there,  but  one  end  of  the  hammock  had  been 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  175 

unslung ;  it  lay  coiled  on  the  floor,  and  across 
the  place  where  she  had  been  sleeping,  foot 
steps,  crowding  upon  each  other,  had  printed 
themselves  on  the  carpet  in  the  yellow  mud 
of  the  mine,  making  a  diagonal  track  from 
the  outer  door  to  the  door  of  her  brother's 
bed-chamber. 

Cecil's  eyes  followed  that  track ;  then  she 
lifted  them  to  Molly's  face,  drawing  her 
breath  with  a  deep,  hard  gasp. 

The  faithful  girl  took  her  young  mistress 
into  her  arms  and  gathered  her  close,  rocking 
her  gently  in  her  strong  embrace,  and  moan 
ing  over  her  like  a  mother  over  a  child  in 
pain  that  cannot  be  relieved. 

Gashwiler  stepped  out  from  the  group  of 
three  by  the  fire,  saying  in  the  heavy  whis 
per  of  a  man  who  has  no  low  tones  in  his 
voice,  — 

"  Miss,  he  was  dead  at  the  first  shot ! " 

Molly  felt  a  sharp  quiver  pass  over  the 
form  locked  close  in  her  arms  ;  she  darted  a 
fierce  glance  at  Gashwiler,  but  he  went  on  in 
his  merciless  whisper, — 

"  It  was  all  over,  Miss,  two  hours  ago.  We 
lost  the  fight  when  he  was  shot ! " 


176  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"  God    help   them  that   begun   it ! "    said 
Molly,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Gashwiler's  face. 
Cecil  lifted  her  head. 
"  Hush !  hush  !     Let  me  go  to  him ! " 

Cecil  looked  out  the  next  day  on  a  white 
world.  Snow  lay  deep  on  the  pass ;  its  soft 
mantle  covered  the  rugged  canons ;  it  whitened 
the  windward  side  of  the  pine-trunks  and 
the  gray  canvas  covers  of  the  freight-wagons, 
bemired  in  the  deeply  rutted  roads ;  it  lay 
smooth  on  the  roofs  of  the  town,  and  dead 
ened  the  tramping  of  feet  on  the  board  side 
walks  ;  it  had  obliterated  all  the  devious  foot 
prints  of  the  night  before,  —  it  had  hidden 
that  track  from  the  Shoshone  shaft-house  to 
Conrath's  door. 

Conrath's  door  no  longer.  He  would  go 
out  of  it  once  more,  and  then  the  account 
between  the  Led-Horse  and  the  Shoshone 
would  be  settled.  There  was  no  more  talk  of 
mine  and  thine  for  Conrath,  lying  straight 
ened  on  his  unused  bed.  It  had  come  to 
Cecil  in  her  long  watch  beside  him  that  this 
was  the  only  way  in  which  his  future  could 
be  reconciled  to  his  past.  It  was  better  for 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  177 

him  to  lie  so,  his  rash  struggle  over,  empty- 
handed,  claiming  nothing,  refuting  nothing. 
Better  that  silence,  that  dignity  of  rest,  that 
look  of  his  boyhood  stealing  back  over  the 
hardened  features  of  his  manhood,  than  a 
triumphant  bringing  home  of  sheaves  that 
had  been  wrested  from  a  fellow-laborer.  He 
had  atoned  to  the  uttermost,  with  all  that  a 
man  has  to  give  in  restitution  for  wrong,  —  a 
wrong  attempted  but  not  accomplished.  The 
account  weighed  now  on  the  other  side.  She 
was  humbly  thankful  that  she  would  never 
have  to  know  whose  hand  had  turned  the 
scale. 

These  were  the  thoughts  that  sank,  cold 
and  still  as  the  snow-flakes  falling  from  the 
gray  sky,  into  Cecil's  bruised  heart,  smother 
ing  the  passion  of  her  grief. 

The  snow  fell  all  day.  It  clung  to  the 
window-sashes,  and  melted  from  the  logs  that 
were  laid  upon  the  fire.  The  trail  that  led 
down  into  the  gulch  was  buried  out  of  sight. 
The  yellow  gold  of  the  aspens  would  not  be 
seen  again  until  it  had  been  transmuted  into 
sodden  leaf-mould  The  low  monument-stones 
were  hidden;  the  scars  on  the  young  trees, 
12 


178  THE  LED-I10RSE   CLAIM. 

bearing  the  marks  of  human  possession,  had 
been  sealed  out  of  sight  by  the  impartial 
hand  which  keeps  no  record  of  the  contracts 
of  men ;  and  Cecil's  little  ring,  with  its  graven 
motto,  Dieu  vous  garde,  lay  deep  under  the 
snow. 

A  few  people  came  from  the  town  that  day 
of  storm  to  offer  their  help  and  sympathy  to 
the  lonely  household.  Molly  received  them 
all,  and  spared  her  mistress  the  questions  and 
the  exclamations. 

Toward  dusk  Hilgard  came  ploughing 
through  the  snow  to  the  kitchen  door,  and 
asked  Molly  if  he  could  see  her  mistress.  A 
fire  had  been  kindled  in  Conrath's  office,  and 
Cecil  had  spent  many  hours  of  the  day  sitting 
there  alone.  Molly  told  Hilgard  to  go  into 
the  parlor,  and  went  herself  to  the  office  to 
seek  her  mistress. 

Hilgard  went  into  the  parlor  and  found 
Cecil  there. 

Among  the  rumors  of  the  day  that  had 
come  dimly  to  her  ears  was  one  that  the 
train  eastward  bound  had  been  blocked  by 
snow  in  the  valley.  When  she  saw  Hilgard 
enter  the  room,  she  accepted  the  fact  of  his 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  179 

sudden  return  as  the  natural  result  of  her 
longing  for  him.  She  had  thought  he  would 
hear  of  her  sorrow  first  when  he  was  thou 
sands  of  miles  away ;  but  the  merciful  snow 
had  checked  him,  and  the  news  had  brought 
him  back.  Bad  news  travelled  quickly,  and 
he  would  lose  no  time  in  coming  to  her.  This 
was  the  rapid,  unreasoning  instinct  that  took 
the  place  of  surprise  at  the  sight  of  him. 

She  went  to  him,  and  all  her  simple,  un 
questioning  need  of  him  spoke  in  her  face  as 
she  raised  it  to  his,  putting  up  her  arms  like 
a  child. 

In  the  full  knowledge  of  what  was  before 
him,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her 
close,  in  a  silent,  remorseful  embrace. 

Drawing  his  head  down  to  hers,  with  her 
hands  clasped  behind  his  neck,  she  whis 
pered,  — 

"  You  are  all  that  I  have  left." 

He  did  not  speak,  but  gently  unclasped 
her  hands  and  moved  a  little  away  from  her. 
Would  she  ever  come  to  him  again  and  put 
up  her  arms  to  him,  owning  him  as  her  only 
earthly  refuge  ? 

She  did  not  seem  to  understand  his  with* 


180  THE  LED-EORSE   CLAIM. 

drawing  from  her.  She  stood  a  moment 
looking  at  him  helplessly,  and  then  sat  down 
in  the  nearest  chair. 

"  Did  you  hear  of  it,  and  come  back  ?  You 
knew  how  I  would  need  you." 

"  No,  I  did  not  come  back." 

She  kept  her  eyes  on  his  face,  without  lis 
tening  to  his  words. 

"  You  must  not  look  so !  You  must  not 
suffer  so  for  me !  Ah,  think  how  much 
worse  it  might  have  been !  If  you  had  not 
gone  —  " 

"  Cecil,  I  did  not  go !     You  must  try  not  to 
be  hard  on  me.     It  had  come  to  the  clinch  - 
I  could  not  go  !  " 

"  You  must  have  gone ! "  she  said,  rising 
and  confronting  him  with  her  white  face  of 
dread.  "  I  heard  the  train  go  out." 

"  I  was  not  on  it.  Will  you  sit  still,  Cecil  ? 
I  will  tell  you  all." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  hear  it — I  cannot  hear 
it!" 

"  Do  you  think  I  need  not  tell  you  ?  You 
will  let  it  rest  ?  God  bless  you,  my  dearest!" 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  moaned.  "  You  will  have 
to  tell  me !  " 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  181 

He  waited  until  he  could  speak,  and  then 
spoke  fast,  in  hard,  unmodulated  sentences. 

"  I  went  down  to  hold  the  drift.  We  heard 
them  open  the  door  of  the  barricade,  but  we 
could  not  see  their  faces.  It  was  dark  in  the 
drift.  We  called  to  them  to  stop.  There 
was  firing.  I  don't  know  who  fired  first." 

"  How  many  were  you  ?  " 

"  We  were  two  !  " 

"  No,  no ! "  she  pleaded,  wildly.  "  There 
must  have  been  more  than  two  !  " 

"  The  others  were  not  down.  Before  God, 
I  don't  know  who  did  it;  it  lies  between 
West  and  me ! " 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  the  desolate 
silence  that  followed,  and  then  she  asked,  — 

"  Why  did  you  go  down  ?  " 

"  West  would  have  gone  alone.  You  cannot 
ask  me  why  I  did  not  let  one  of  my  men  take 
my  place  ?  " 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  she  said. 

"  No,  it  does  not  matter ;  the  responsibility 
is  mine.  Cecil,  I  am  the  same  man  you  gave 
your  promise  to  last  night.  I  do  not  love 
such  work.  I  went  into  it,  sick  at  heart.  I 
wish,  God  knows,  I  were  in  his  place  ! " 


182  THE  LED-IIORSE   CLAIM. 

"  I  wish  we  both  were.  Oh !  my  heart  is 
broken  !  " 

"  But  you  cannot  mean  that  it 's  all  over 
between  us?  Does  it  make  no  difference  that 
it  was  forced  upon  me  ?  I  have  to  say  it : 
We  were  on  our  own  ground  ;  their  barricade 
was  fifty  feet  within  our  lines.  A  barricade 
that  is  only  for  defence  does  not  have  a  door 
in  it ;  and,  Cecil,  they  were  five  to  one  !  " 

"  You  are  talking  about  my  brother  !  " 

He  could  say  no  more. 

"  I  am  not  judging  you,"  she  pleaded,  in 
answer  to  his  look  of  dumb,  passionate 
despair. 

u  No,  you  are  only  sentencing  me  without 
judgment.  At  least,  you  will  not  refuse 
what  poor  help  I  can  offer  you  now  ?  There 
are  things  to  be  done  for  you  which  only  a 
man  can  do.  Is  there  any  one  here  who 
has  a  better  right  than  I  —  than  I  had  last 
night  ?  " 

"  They  have  telegraphed  for  my  father.  Oh, 
forgive  me  !  "  she  murmured,  leaning  towards 
him  with  an  agony  of  pity  in  her  eyes. 

He  did  not  see  it.  He  sat  facing  the  win 
dow,  and  the  pitiless,  white  stare  of  the  snow- 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  183 

laden  sky  outside.  When  he  spoke  again,  his 
voice  had  lost  the  accent  of  appeal. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  a  father." 

"  What  have  we  known  of  each  other  ?  We 
are  strangers.  Oh,  it  has  all  been  too  sud 
den,  too  rash  !  It  began  wrong ! " 

"  Then  let  us  begin  over  again  !  I  will  go 
away  now.  I  will  wait.  I  will  not  ask  to  see 
you  for  a  long  time.  But  you  will  give  me 
some  hope  in  the  future  ?  I  have  had  no 
chance  to  show  my  love  for  you.  It  is  true, 
we  do  not  know  each  other.  But  shall  we 
not  know  each  other  some  day  ?  It  is  not 
just  to  set  this  awful  fatality  forever  between 
us!" 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  asking  him  to  un 
derstand  without  words,  which  came  so  hard. 

"  I  am  doing  nothing,"  she  said.  "  It  is 
done  already.  We  must  keep  apart,  because 
that  is  the  only  way  to  bear  it." 

"  Cecil,  you  cannot  mean  it !  Why,  great 
Heaven !  if  I  were  the  lowest  criminal,  there 
would  be  some  poor  fool  of  a  woman  to  cling 
to  me !  You  disgrace  me  for  life.  I  have 
done  what  was  simply  my  duty.  But  I  did  n't 
expect  you  to  feel  that.  I  counted  on  your 


184  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

mercy.  I  thought  you  would  forgive  me,  — 
as  you  forgive  your  brother,  —  as  I  forgive 
him.  For,  if  this  is  what  you  mean,  Heaven 
knows,  I  too  have  something  to  forgive  ! " 

"  There  can  be  no  forgiveness  between  us," 
she  said,  piteously.  "  Oh,  cannot  you  under 
stand  ?  If  you  were  old  or  crippled ;  if  your 
life  were  spoiled  in  some  way,  I  would  share 
it  with  you.  I  would  go  away  with  you  now, 
if  I  could  suffer  with  you.  But,  if  we  were 
together,  we  should  not  suffer.  We  should  be 
happy  —  after  a  while." 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  he  moaned,  "  we  should  be 
happy.  What  have  we  done  that  we  should 
not  be  happy  ?  " 

"  You  will  be  happy,  I  hope  —  but  not  with 
me.  Not  with  —  his  sister !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  say  it  out  ?  Am  I  his 
murderer,  that  you  hold  off  from  me  like 
that  ?  "  Her  meek  but  inflexible  resistance 
maddened  him.  "  Cecil,  my  little  girl,  you 
did  love  me.  Do  you  love  me  now  ?  And 
will  you  not  let  me  try  to  heal  the  hurt  I  have 
given  you  ?  " 

"  I  love  you,"  she  said,  resisting  his  em 
brace,  "  but  not  in  that  way  !  " 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  185 

"There  is  no  other  way ! " 

"  Is  there  not  ?  If  it  had  been  you,  instead 
of  him  —  " 

"  If  it  had,"  —  he  wrested  the  words  from 
her,  —  "and  if  he  were  in  my  place,  now, 
would  you  disown  him  for  my  sake  ? " 

"I  could  not  do  that;  I  could  not  break 
a  tie  that  is  in  my  blood." 

"  Is  there  no  tie,  then,  between  us  ? " 

She  leaned  her  head  low  between  her 
hands. 

"We  made  it  ourselves.  I  made  it,  self 
ishly.  I  made  you  come  to  me ;  do  you 
remember  ?  " 

Did  lie  remember!  Only  last  night  her 
head  had  rested  on  his  breast ;  now  there  was 
no  help  or  shelter  of  his  she  would  ever  seek 
again. 

She  sat  with  her  hands  tightly  locked 
together  in  her  lap,  white,  trembling,  but 
immovable. 

"  There  is  another  way !  If  you  were  —  as 
he  is  now  —  would  I  not  love  you  ?  You  are 
the  same  to  me  as  he  is;  you  are  dead 
tome!" 

Her  strength  suddenly  deserted  her,  and 


186  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

she  broke  into  wild  sobs.     He  knelt  beside 
her  and  forced  her  gently  into  his  arms. 

"  Cecil,  you  cannot  put  me  out  of  your  life, 
like  this,  with  a  word !  You  cannot  mean  to 
mock  me  with  a  love  that  denies  our  very 
humanity.  It  is  nonsense  to  say  I  am  dead 
to  you,  when  every  nerve  in  iny  body  starts 
at  your  touch.  Did  we  make  that  tie  ?  It  is 
the  oldest,  the  strongest  tie  between  man  and 
woman.  There  is  no  duty  that  can  break  it. 
I  am  your  duty  and  you  are  mine,  in  the 
sight  of  God.  There  is  no  law  that  forbids 
me  to  love  you." 

"There  is  an  instinct  that  forbids  me, — I 
must  follow  that !  " 

She  struggled  to  her  feet.  He  rose,  too, 
and  stood  before  her,  white  with  the  passion 
of  his  last  appeal. 

"  You  have  done  your  duty,  in  spite  of  the 
cost,"  she  said.  "  But  you  cannot  judge  for 
me.  A  woman's  duty  is  different." 

A  belief  that  he  must,  in  the  end,  prevail, 
had  unconsciously  supported  him,  and  fed  his 
persistence ;  but  it  forsook  him  now  as  he 
looked  in  her  face.  He  continued  to  look  at 
her  a  moment ;  something  like  a  shiver  passed 


CONRATH  COMES  HOME.  187 

over  him ;  then  his  words  came  heavily,  like 
the  first  sluggish  drops  following  a  deep 
wound. 

"  Are  you  so  sure  that  this  is  your  duty  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  only  had  not  been  so  sure  of 
yours!"  she  faltered,  dealing  this  last  blow 
helplessly,  and  hearing  herself  speak  as  if  her 
voice  were  the  voice  of  some  one  else,  pro 
nouncing  his  doom  and  her  own. 

There  was  a  loud  knock  on  the  outer  door. 
The  same  ominous  hand  delivered  it  that 
had  knocked  in  the  watches  of  the  night 
before.  Cecil  started  at  the  sound,  and  turned, 
in  her  terror,  to  Hilgard.  It  was  the  one 
moment  when  she  might  have  yielded. 

The  knock  was  repeated.  She  made  a  ges 
ture  toward  the  door,  and  as  Hilgard  turned 
to  open  it  she  escaped  from  the  room. 

It  was  Gashwiler  who  stood  on  the  thresh 
old. 

"  Go  to  the  other  door ! "  Hilgard  said, 
fierce  with  the  anguish  that  was  mounting  in 
his  blood. 

His  words  were  like  a  curse.  The  two  men 
looked  each  other  in  the  eyes  for  an  instant, 
then  Gashwiler  retreated  down  the  steps, 


188  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

and  around  the  corner  of  the  house  to  the 
kitchen. 

Hilgard  plunged  through  the  melting  drifts 
that  hid  the  trail,  dashing  the  wet  snow  from 
the  low  fir-boughs.  A  storm  of  revolt  was 
let  loose  within  him.  He  saw  no  justice,  no 
logic,  in  his  fate.  Its  mockery  was  jet  in 
store  for  him. 


THE  HONORS  OF  THE  CAMP.      189 


XI. 

THE  HONORS  OF  THE  CAMP. 

A  TELEGRAM  to  the  home-office,  convey 
ing  the  news  of  the  fight  and  its  result,  was 
immediately  followed  by  Hilgard's  formal 
resignation. 

This  step  was  not  taken  from  any  con 
sciousness  of  mistaken  or  excessive  zeal,  but 
from  the  personal  aspect  of  the  situation. 
His  letter  of  resignation  was  accompanied 
by  a  brief  statement  of  the  circumstances 
that  had  led  to  the  fight,  and  which  had 
made  it,  so  far  as  the  Led-Horse  was  con 
cerned,  inevitable.  The  answer  to  his  tele 
gram  prepared  him  for  the  prompt  acceptance 
of  his  resignation.  It  was  carefully  worded, 
and  evidently  intended  as  an  official  comment 
on  his  action.  It  was  as  follows :  — 

"  Officers  of  company  deplore  unhappy 
tragedy  of  twenty-second.  They  repudiate 


190  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

measures  requiring  sacrifice  of  life  for  pror> 
erty.  Less  violent  policy  would  better  repre 
sent  company." 

The  administration  in  the  East,  while  con 
ceding  discretionary  power  to  the  executive 
in  the  West,  was  keenly  sensitive  to  any 
responsibility  which  might  attach  to  itself 
through  the  exercise  of  that  power. 

"  They  don't  repudiate  the  mine,"  Hilgard 
said  to  himself,  bitterly.  "  Their  scruples 
won't  prevent  their  pocketing  the  dividends 
after  they  have  washed  their  hands  of  the 
.men  who  saved  their  property." 

For  himself  he  did  not  care  ;  it  seemed  but 
a  grimace  of  that  fate  which  had  first  dealt 
him  its  crudest  blow;  but  it  hurt  him  to 
think  of  West.  The  only  elaborate  part  of 
his  letter  had  referred  to  West's  share  in  the 
discovery  and  the  quenching  of  the  plot.  He 
had  taken  a  chief's  pride  in  the  loyalty  and 
courage  of  his  adjutant,  and  he  commended 
him  earnestly  to  his  successor.  Perhaps 
some  recognition  of  his  service,  the  kind  of 
service  that  has  no  price,  would  come  later. 
In  the  mean  time  he  suppressed  the  telegram. 
He  was  ashamed  to  read  it  to  the  man  who 


THE  HONORS  OF  THE   CAMP.      191 

had  said,  "I  reckon  I  could  hold  the  drift 
alone ! " 

"  They  think  it 's  a  kind  of  Border-ruffian 
ism,"  Hilgard  said  to  himself;  "they  don't 
consider  it  legitimate  mining." 

It  could  not  add  to  his  hopelessness,  but 
it  embittered  it  somewhat,  to  find  himself 
classed  with  the  very  men  whose  principles  he 
had  sacrificed  his  life's  happiness  to  defeat. 

That  element  of  the  camp  of  which  the 
Shoshone  policy  was  the  exponent  accepted 
Conrath  as  its  martyr.  Gashwiler  would 
have  been  a  far  less  interesting  figure  in 
death.  He  and  Conrath  were  both  jumpers  ; 
but  Gashwiler  was  known  to  be  a  professional 
jumper,  while  Conrath  could  claim  the  dis 
tinction  of  an  amateur.  Gashwiler  was  not 
young  and  handsome,  not  supposed  to  come 
of  a  good  Eastern  family.  Gashwiler' s  family 
was  a  subject  of  general  indifference.  He 
was  not  particularly  free  with  his  money. 
There  were  no  ladies  of  fashion  in  the  camp 
who  would  be  likely  to  exchange  reminiscen 
ces  of  his  attentions  to  themselves,  or  com 
pare  their  respective  degrees  of  intimacy 
with  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Even  the  sober, 


192  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

thoughtful  citizens,  who  would  have  dismissed 
Gashwiler's  removal  with  the  unperplexed 
sentiment  that  he  had  got  his  deserts,  found 
a  certain  pathos  in  the  fate  of  his  young 
chief,  cut  off  by  an  act  of  wild  justice,  at  the 
beginning  of  his  career. 

Few  stopped  to  think  what  that  career  was 
likely  to  have  been.  The  more  picturesque 
portion  of  the  population  of  the  camp  was 
ready  to  say,  "  Poor  fellow!"  in  the  general 
consciousness  that  the  compassionate  epithet 
might  eventually  apply  nearer  home.  Of  such 
frail  clay  were  they  themselves  fashioned. 

A  delay,  inexplicable  to  Conrath's  friends, 
in  the  reply  to  their  telegram  to  his  father, 
roused  a  good  deal  of  feeling  among  them. 
It  was  hastily  assumed  that  Conrath's  family 
had  "  gone  back  "  on  him.  The  facts  of  the 
case  were,  that  when  the  telegram  reached 
New  York,  his  father  was  on  shipboard  be 
tween  that  city  and  Havana,  where  his  wife 
had  been  ordered  by  her  physician  to  spend 
the  winter.  The  silence  was  certainly  far 
from  paternal.  The  camp  was  sensitive  on 
the  point  of  its  relations  with  the  East,  es 
pecially  in  the  event  of  death.  Whatever 


THE  HONORS   OF   THE   CAMP.       193 

their  indifference  or  faithlessness  to  their 
Eastern  ties  during  life,  the  men  of  Con- 
rath  's  rank  on  the  frontier  confidently  ex 
pected  those  ties  to  contract  in  the  extreme 
moment,  and  restore  them  to  their  early 
associations. 

Without  waiting  for  the  silence  of  Conrath's 
father  to  be  explained,  the  Shoshone  partisans 
rose  in  wrathful  championship  of  their  in 
sulted  comrade,  and  said  :  — 

"  If  they  can't  bury  him  decently,  damn 
him,  we  '11  bury  him  ourselves  ! "  The  case 
of  the  living  sister  could  wait  on  that  of  the 
dead  brother. 

It  was  on  this  honorable  errand  Gashwiler 
had  come,  when  he  encountered  Hilgard  in 
the  first  strong  agony  of  his  bereavement. 

Gashwiler  did  not  see  Miss  Conrath,  but 
he  had  a  long  and  exciting  argument  with 
Molly,  who  protested  that  her  mistress  should 
not  be  disturbed  on  this  or  any  other  business. 
She  indignantly  repudiated,  in  her  mistress's 
name,  the  offered  honors  to  the  dead. 

"  Would  n't  ye  leave  her  even  the  body  ? 
Sure,  she  'II  never  sit  behind  that  hearse  — 
trailin'  through  the  streets  along  with  the 
13 


194  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

lot  of  you,  an'  your  music,  an'  your  mil't'ry\ 
She  's  not  proud  of  his  dyin',  that  she  'd  want 
the  whole  camp  to  be  throopin'  after  'im.  The 
least  ye  can  do  is  to  leave  him  to  her  now !  " 

But  Molly  could  not  prevail  alone  against 
the  resolute  sympathy  of  Conrath's  constitu 
ency.  All  she  could  do  was  to  soften  the 
proposition  by  a  little  merciful  deception,  and 
present  it  as  a  decent,  kindly  offer  to  give  the 
chief  of  the  Shoshone  appropriate  burial  at 
the  hands  of  his  fellow-Masons  and  comrades 
of  the  militia  regiment  to  which  he  had  be 
longed.  Cecil  gave  her  helpless  consent,  with 
the  condition  that  all  the  expenses  should  be 
referred  to  her  father.  She  was  too  far  pros 
trated  in  body,  as  well  as  in  spirit,  to  know 
more  of  the  last  scene  in  the  tragedy  of  her 
life,  than  such  dreary  echoes  as  penetrated 
the  darkened  seclusion  of  her  chamber. 
J  Conrath's  body  was  borne  out  of  the  house 
and  conveyed  to  the  camp,  where  it  lay  in 
state  in  the  unfinished  hall  of  the  new  Ma 
sonic  temple,  to  be  gazed  upon  by  the  mul 
titude.  It  was  subsequently  enshrined  in  a 
plumed  hearse,  drawn  by  eight  horses,  fed 
on  hay  at  one  hundred  dollars  a  ton.  It  was 


THE  HONORS  OF  THE  CAMP.      195 

preceded  by  the  regiment  of  militia,  keeping 
step  through  the  miry  snow  of  the  street, 
with  guns  reversed,  to  the  measures  of  the 
Dead  March.  The  band  which  furnished 
the  music  was  attached  to  one  of  the  prin 
cipal  variety  theatres,  and,  in  the  intervals 
of  its  regular  performance,  was  often  re 
quired  to  assist  at  funerals,  when  the  camp 
publicly  honored  some  favorite  actor  in  its 
social  dramas,  on  his  exit  from  the  stage. 
The  Masonic  society  marched  behind  the 
hearse  in  full  regalia,  followed  by  the  fire 
companies  and  the  populace.  The  latter  had 
turned  out  promiscuously,  on  foot,  or  mounted 
on  "  livery  horses  "  of  uncertain  gait  and  tem 
per,  and  might  be  relied  on  to  appear  at  any 
point  in  the  procession,  according  to  its  ca 
price,  joining  the  ranks  of  the  Masons,  the 
militia,  or  the  firemen,  and  keeping  up  a 
current  flow  of  conversation  on  topics  more 
or  less  relevant  to  the  occasion.  The  cortege 
moved  on  slowly  along  the  principal  streets 
of  the  town,  and  out  through  its  straggling 
suburbs  to  the  cemetery. 

The  ladies  who  joined  in  this  public  tribute 
were  easily  accommodated  in  three  or  four 


196  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

carriages.  In  the  first  of  these  sat  Mrs. 
Denny.  A  prevalent  theory  of  Conrath's 
death  was  that  there  had  been  bad  blood 
between  the  two  young  superintendents  from 
other  than  business  causes ;  and  Mrs.  Denny 
enjoyed  a  temporary  supremacy  among  the 
ladies  of  Conrath's  preference  as  the  heroine 
of  this  rumor.  Hilgard  's  fate  relented  toward 
him  in  this  one  instance,  and  spared  him 
the  knowledge  of  this  romantic  fiction  of 
the  camp,  which  joined  his  name  with  Mrs. 
Denny's. 

The  cemetery  was  a  grim,  untended  spot, 
an  acre  of  the  primitive  fir-forest,  sloping 
westward  toward  the  valley,  and  exposed  to 
the  winds  that  blew  across  from  the  snow- 
covered  peaks.  The  fire  and  the  axe  had 
passed  over  it,  and  the  nakedness  of  the  land 
was  left  as  the  inheritance  of  that  peaceful 
community  which  had  pitched  its  low  tents 
on  the  bleak  slope.  A  few  stumps  and  stark, 
blackened  pine  trunks,  a  few  young,  slight 
trees,  the  sole  mourners  of  the  forest,  supple 
mented  the  scant  memorials  raised  to  the 
human  dead.  Unpainted  boards  marked  alike 
the  graves  of  those  who  awaited  at  the  hands 


TEE  HONORS  OF  THE   CAMP.      197 

of  distant  friends,  removal  to  a  more  perma 
nent  resting-place,  the  graves  of  the  poor  and 
the  unknown,  and  the  graves  of  those,  the 
place  of  whose  rest  was  of  less  importance 
to  the  general  public  than  its  finality.  The 
camp  grave-yard,  like  the  camp  itself,  was 
peripatetic.  The  city  was  at  that  time  re 
serving  the  money  it  might  have  spent  on 
its  adornment,  in  contemplation  of  its  re 
moval  to  another  spot. 

The  heavy,  soft  snow  had  sunk  and  melted 
under  the  high  glare  of  the  sun,  and  lay  in 
patches,  like  linen  spread  to  bleach ;  offering 
a  grotesque,  irreverent  suggestion  that  the 
dwellers  in  those  sunken  mounds  might  have 
risen  in  the  night  and  washed  their  earth- 
stained  cerements  in  readiness  for  the  pend 
ing  order  to  "move  camp."  The  funeral 
procession,  invading  this  desolate  enclosurev 
took  nothing  from  its  haggard  loneliness.  It 
was  impossible  to  associate  the  place  with 
human  love  and  reverence,  or  even  with 
humanity's  last,  enduring  rest. 

Conrath's  body  was  lowered  into  the  alien 
soil.  His  final  allotment  of  it  was  small,  and 
was  grudged  by  none.  Here  no  locator  en- 


198  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

croached  upon  his  neighbor's  claim,  and  the 
original  boundary  lines  were  kept  inviolate. 
A  brief  stillness  fell  upon  the  multitude,  di 
verse  and  disunited  as  the  stones  of  a  river 
bed,  except  in  the  wave  of  sentiment  which 
had  brought  them  there ;  and  then  the  words 
were  spoken,  of  a  common  humility  and  a 
common  hope. 

The  militia  company,  drawn  up  by  the  side 
of  the  grave,  fired  a  volley  over  it.  The 
second  volley  scattered  badly,  and  the  crowd, 
recovering  from  its  momentary  reflectiveness, 
echoed  the  failure  with  jeers  of  derision.  The 
mounted  mourners  had  become  exalted,  dur 
ing  the  ceremonies,  to  a  pitch  of  solemn 
enthusiasm  which  could  only  vent  itself  in 
the  racing  of  their  horses  back  to  the  camp ; 
and  the  militia  company  reported  at  its  cap 
tain's  headquarters  before  nightfall,  and  drank 
to  Conrath's  repose,  in  a  keg  of  whiskey 
opened  for  the  purpose. 

Hilgard  had  considered  the  spectacle  of  his 
victim's  last  honors,  from  the  sidewalk  of  the 
principal  street.  The  moving  crowd,  keeping 
pace  with  the  procession,  shoved  against  him, 
and  occasionally  pointed  at  him  as  an  object 


THE  HONORS   OF  THE   CAMP.      199 

of  interest  only  second  to  that  concealed  from 
public  view  in  the  flag-draped  coffin. 

That  night  was  Hilgard's  last  in  the  camp. 
At  two  o'clock  of  the  chill,  wan  morning,  in 
company  with  Godfrey,  he  was  on  his  way  to 
the  new  railroad  station,  which  had  lately 
superseded  the  stage  office.  The  empty  streets 
were  covered  with  a  light,  pure  renewal  of 
the  previous  snows. 

"  What  a  ghastly  hour  for  a  train  to  leave  !  " 
the  Doctor  said,  as  they  walked  shiveringly 
the  length  of  the  platform,  printing  their 
progress  on  the  untrodden  snow.  "  We  're 
recording  ourselves  at  a  great  rate  on  these 
sands  of  time.  Time  here  is  eternity  in  the 
rest  of  the  world.  The  shipwrecked  brother 
will  have  to  hurry  up  if  he  wants  to  profit  by 
our  footprints." 

A  truck  passed  them,  with  Hilgard's  trunk 
piled  among  the  others,  eastward  bound. 

"You'll  take  all  that's  left  of  my  youth 
with  you,  my  boy." 

"  No,  Doctor ;  you  are  younger  than  I  am 
now." 

Godfrey  stopped  and  looked  earnestly  at 
Hilgard. 


200  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

"You're  morbid,  George.  You're  taking 
a  bigger  load  on  your  shoulders  than  be 
longs  to  you.  Try  to  look  at  it  simply,  and 
remember  that  poor  Con  did  n't  know  how 
to  live,  anyway.  He  carried  too  much  wick 
for  his  candle ;  he  never  could  have  stood  a 
draught.  Fate  has  been  kinder  to  him  than 
to  you." 

"  Doctor,  I  cannot  talk  about  it ! " 

"  Well,  you'd  better.  It's  better  to  handle 
a  trouble  pretty  freely,  and  secularize  it,  so  to 
speak,  before  it  masters  your  common  sense. 
I  suspect  you're  hiding  a  deeper  hurt  —  I 
won't  touch  it,  boy ;  only  just  let  me  say : 
Don't  think  that  everything  ends  here.  If 
you  spoke  to  her  now,  you  spoke  too  soon." 

"She  hasn't  heard  from  her  father  yet," 
Hilgard  said  after  a  pause.  "  Is  there  no  one 
to  take  care  of  her  but  that  bedlam  crew  ? " 

"She  has  heard  —  she  heard  to-day.  Her 
father's  coming  for  her,  and  the  minister's 
wife  has  found  her  out.  She's  a  friendly 
little  soul,  with  a  lot  of  children."  And  then 
he  added,  "  Remember,  George,  you  can  count 
on  nature  in  the  long  run.  I  don't  mean  to 
flatter  you,  but  did  you  ever  ask  anything  of 


THE  HONORS   OF  THE   CAMP.      201 

a  woman  and  want  it  very  much,  and  not 
get  it?" 

Hilgard  flushed  angrily. 

"  Do  you  call  that  flattering  me  ?  It  is 
not  a  question  of  women,  and  it 's  not  open  to 
discussion." 

"I'm  done,  boy — I'm  done  —  only,  just 
remember  this :  The  worst  thing  that  can 
happen  to  a  man  is  to  get  some  things,  the 
best  things,  too  easily." 

u  You  've  been  my  friend  in  a  place  where 
I  haven't  many,"  Hilgard  said,  relenting. 

"  You  've  had  plenty  of  my  kind.  I  tried  to 
be  your  friend  once,  in  a  way  that  would  have 
made  you  furious  if  you  had  known,  but  I 
didn't  succeed." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"I  don't  suppose  you  do.  It's  a  pity  I 
didn't  succeed.  However —  Well,  take  care 
of  yourself,  boy !  My  feet  are  confoundedly 
damp." 

Hilgard  looked  after  the  stout,  stooping  fig 
ure,  shuffling  away  through  the  chilly  streets, 
and  the  dull  ache  in  his  breast  included  older 
failures,  and  more  hopeless  ones,  than  his 
own.  The  world  seemed  full  of  them. 


202  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

As  he  turned  he  saw  West,  who  had  ridden 
Peggy  down  from  the  mine,  and  stood  near 
the  post  where  she  was  hitched,  waiting  for 
Hilgard's  recognition. 

Peggy's  toilet  had  been  carefully  attended 
to.  The  smoke  from  her  silky  sides  rose  in 
the  cold  air.  It  might  have  been  the  sickly 
gleam  of  the  station  lamps  that  gave  West  a 
pale,  dragged  look. 

Hilgard  slipped  his  hand  under  Peggy's 
mane,  and  patted  her  warm  neck. 

"You'll  see  that  they  take  good  care  of 
her,  West." 

"I  will,  sir.  Peggy  and  me '11  leave  the 
camp  together." 

"  I  don't  mean  anything  of  that  sort.  We 
have  n't,  either  of  us,  any  money  to  invest  in 
sentiment." 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  said  West,  turning  .red. 
"  But  a  man  can  fool  himself  with  his  own 
money,  if  he  wants  to.  Peggy 's  all  the  Led- 
Horse  I  want!  I'll  take  her  for  my  two 
months'  pay,  if  they'll  call  it  square!" 

"  You  must  n't  do  it,  West !  She  is  n't  worth 
half  of  it.  I  've  used  her  hard,  poor  old  girl ! 
She  was  too  light  for  my  weight."  He  slid 


HONORS   OF  THE  CAMP.      203 


his  hand  down  her  fore  leg,  which  she  lifted 
obediently.  "Her  feet  are  all  banged  up. 
She  needs  a  six  weeks'  run  in  the  valley." 

Peggy  was  smelling  around  Hilgard's  pock 
ets. 

"  Prospecting  for  sugar,  Peggy  ?  The  su 
gar  's  in  my  other  clothes.  West,  I  wish  you 
were  going  along." 

"  I  wish  so,  too,  sir." 

"  If  I  should  find  another  job  pretty  soon, 
with  decent  pay,  would  you  come  with  me  ? 
1  don't  want  to  interfere  with  your  chances 
here." 

"  I  ain't  taking  any  chances  here,"  said 
West,  grimly.  "They'll  be  havin'  a  new 
deal  all  round,  when  the  next  boss  comes  out. 
I  'm  going  to  quit  before  I  'm  kicked  out." 

"  You  're  just  as  well  out  of  it.  It  's  an 
ugly  camp.  Gashwiler  is  not  done  with  you." 

"I  expect  not.  Maybe  I  ain't  done  with 
him." 

"  You  'd  better  get  out  of  it,  West  !  You  're 
too  good  a  man  to  be  fooling  with  that  kind 
of  thing." 

"  Yes,"  said  West.  "  They  Ve  got  a  notion 
in  this  camp  that  fight  's  all  there  is  of  me  ; 
but  you  know  better  than  that,  sir  !  " 


204  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

"  I  should  think  I  did.  Well,  look  out  for 
yourself ! " 

They  shook  hands  silently. 

As  the  train  moved  out  of  the  depot,  West 
stood  with  his  arm  across  his  saddle,  his  head 
hanging  down. 

"  There  ain't  a  man  on  top  o'  ground  I  'd 
put  up  more  on  than  him  ;  I  would  n't  wonder 
if  he  'd  know  it  some  day,"  he  muttered  to 
himself;  and,  remounting  Peggy,  he  rode 
away,  through  the  snow-glimmer,  under  the 
dark,  starlit  sky. 

Hilgard,  looking  from  the  car-window  on 
the  long  grade  descending  toward  the  valley, 
saw  the  shrunken  old  moon  crawl  up  above 
the  notch  of  the  Pass.  A  light  glowed  from 
the  Led-Horse  shaft-house,  but  the  neighbor 
ing  light  across  the  gulch  was  out. 


ON  THE  DOWN  GRADE.  205 


XII. 

ON  THE   DOWN  GRADE. 

THE  glittering  snows  of  the  Range  melted 
into  gray,  soft  showers  as  the  eastward-bound 
train  reached  the  valleys  at  its  foot.  The 
valleys  opened  and  widened  until,  like  rivers 
entering  the  sea,  they  were  lost  in  the  effacing 
levels  of  the  plain. 

At  that  season  of  dearth  the  brown  plains 
of  Colorado  and  Kansas  were  swept  bare  as 
threshing-floors,  where  the  feet  of  wandering 
herds  beat  out  the  desert  harvest,  and  the 
winds  met  at  the  winnowing,  mocking  the 
sterile  crop  and  scattering  it  in  wild  eddies, 
mingled  with  the  dust  of  the  arid  trails. 

In  a  single  night  of  travel  the  naked,  titanic 
plains  were  changed  for  the  rich  savannas  of 
Eastern  Kansas,  green  with  miles  of  sprout 
ing  wheat.  For  eyes  tired  with  dust-laden 
winds  and  glare  of  lofty  snow-fields,  there 
was  rest  in  this  breadth  of  fertile  country, 


206  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

dimly  seen  through  the  rain-mist  which  was 
gathering  and  trickling  against  the  car-win 
dows.  To  Hilgard's  homesick  gaze  it  looked 
like  the  "  lap  of  earth." 

The  rains  continued.  The  deep,  narrow 
runs  that  go  winding  and  looping  through 
the  woods  of  Missouri  were  filling  their  dry, 
summer  channels  from  the  low  clouds.  It 
was  bright,  windy  weather  crossing  the  roll 
ing  prairies  of  Iowa  and  the  level  prairies  of 
Illinois.  Evening  in  Chicago  was  gray  and 
chill  with  the  lake  fogs ;  but  morning  in  the 
valley  of  the  Genesee  was  red  with  autumn 
woods,  and  the  broad,  low  light  of  the  sun 
shining  through  haze. 

The  "  limited  express  "  hurled  itself  into  the 
stillness  of  the  landscape,  giving  it  a  dizzy, 
panoramic  movement ;  the  woods  marched 
like  processions  with  banners  along  the  hori 
zon  ;  fields  of  standing  corn,  barns,  fences, 
villages,  reeled  past ;  young  girls  in  doorways, 
groups  of  school-children,  or  men  at  work 
in  the  fields,  waved  a  greeting  to  the  train, 
and  were  left  behind ;  and,  long  after  they 
had  gone  their  way,  the  figures  arid  gestures 
remained  transfixed  on  the  vision,  like  an 
instantaneous  photograph. 


ON  THE  DOWN  GRADE.  207 

On  that  last  day  of  his  homeward  jour 
ney,  Hilgard  watched  the  yellow  twilight 
reflected  in  the  upper  reaches  of  the  Hudson. 
The  train  dashed  past  the  lights  of  river 
side  hamlets  and  ferries ;  past  little  fleets  of 
sloops,  creeping  with  the  tide  round  a  bend  of 
the  river,  and  lazy  communities  of  canal-boats 
trailing  behind  the  urgent  propeller ;  past  coun 
try-seats  looking  out  from  wooded  knolls,  and 
farm-houses  sheltered  in  the  hollows  ;  it  came 
clanging  into  the  dingy  depots  of  the  river 
cities.  The  familiar  life  roused  him,  like  the 
pang  of  returning  consciousness,  from  the 
dream-like  succession  of  days  and  nights,  set 
to  the  monotonous,  rhythmic  jar  of  the  car- 
wheels  pounding  on  the  rails. 

He  entered  New  York  with  the  daily  in 
coming  throng  of  summer  tourists,  return 
ing  from  the  sea,  from  the  islands  of  the  St. 
Lawrence,  from  the  mountains  and  lakes, — 
from  camping,  yachting,  hunting,  and  danc 
ing.  He  registered  his  name  at  a  hotel  oppo 
site  one  of  those  small,  sunny  parks  where 
summer  in  the  city  lingers  longest,  and  ap 
peared  duly  before  a  meeting  of  the  Board  of 
Directors  of  the  Led-Horse.  The  directors 


208  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

found  the  situation  an  unexpected  one  ;  it  was 
curious,  it  was  even  picturesque,  and  it  im 
plied  an  unhoped-for  degree  of  prosperity  in 
the  future  of  the  Led-Horse.  Hilgard  took 
his  questioning  very  quietly.  When  the  gen 
tlemanly  directors,  finding,  on  reviewing  the 
circumstances,  that,  in  point  of  sentiment,  a 
small  deficit  remained  on  their  part,  proposed 
its  settlement  with  a  check,  Hilgard  replied :  — 

"  Gentlemen,  you  have  paid  me  my  salary 
as  superintendent.  I  have  simply  been  your 
superintendent,  nothing  more." 

Hilgard  had  expected  to  lose  no  time  on 
his  return  in  looking  up  a  new  situation,  and 
getting  afield  again ;  but  he  had  not  been  pre 
pared  to  find  that  the  story  of  the  fight  in  the 
drift  had  preceded  him.  The  adventure  met 
him  everywhere  among  his  acquaintances. 
It  excited  a  certain  enforced  admiration,  but 
it  impressed  the  Eastern  business  mind  as 
something  excessive ;  as  pitched  not  quite  on 
the  key  of  daily  life. 

Hilgard  had  known  little  of  his  native  city 
since  his  boyhood  ;  for  at  twenty  he  had  gone 
to  the  Western  frontier  under  the  auspices  of 
a  government  topographical  survey.  There 


ON  THE  DOWN  GRADE.  209 

were  links  of  old  acquaintanceship  and  of 
family  that  still  held,  through  all  his  absences 
and  wanderings,  but  he  hesitated,  in  his  sick 
and  sore  self-consciousness,  from  meeting  fa 
miliar  faces  and  subjecting  himself  to  friendly 
questioning. 

He  thought  he  would  go  down  to  that 
quiet  midland  village  where  his  half-brothers 
were  at  school.  He  had  seen  very  little  of 
them  since  their  infancy,  but  they  were  en 
deared  to  him,  not  only  for  the  sake  of  his 
mother  and  theirs,  but  through  grateful  mem 
ories  of  their  father,  who  had  been  his  model 
of  manhood.  Captain  Norton's  heroic  and 
untimely  death  at  sea  had  been  more  of  a 
conscious  loss  to  his  step-son  than  to  his  own 
baby-boys.  The  twice-widowed  mother,  whose 
beauty,  if  it  had  brought  her  more  than  the 
common  share  of  love,  had  not  saved  her  from 
more  than  an  equivalent  of  sorrow,  had  not 
long  survived  this  last  blow. 

The  thought  of  these  two  lads,  and  of  their 
claim  on  his  future,  was,  perhaps,  the  only  one 
at  this  time  that  Hilgard  could  dwell  upon  in 
security  from  pain;  and  yet  day  after  day 
found  him  still  in  the  city. 

14 


210  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

A  deadly  weariness,  like  nothing  he  had 
known,  an  apathy,  as  of  premature  age,  had 
crept  into  the  marrow  of  his  bones,  and  taken 
from  him  his  native  instinct  of  resistance.  He 
often  found  himself  shivering  in  the  soft  fall 
sunshine.  His  thoughts  seemed  to  swoon  in  the 
vacuum  of  his  mind.  He  wondered  indiffer 
ently  if  he  could  be  ill ;  he  had  never  counted 
illness  among  the  chances  of  his  life,  but  he 
would  have  welcomed  it,  if  he  could  have 
believed  it  would  come  quickly  and  forestall 
all  future  chances. 

One  evening,  before  the  level  sunset  light 
had  faded  from  the  house-fronts,  he  was  sit 
ting  on  one  of  the  benches  in  the  little  park, 
with  his  face  turned  away  from  the  passers 
along  the  walks.  He  was  meditating  on  that 
balance-sheet  of  sentiment  between  himself 
and  the  Led-Horse,  and  reviewing  the  events 
of  the  summer  with  a  sickening  doubt  of  his 
own  action.  People  who  paused  to  take  a  seat 
on  the  bench  beside  him,  stared  at  him  intently 
and  passed  on.  Beautiful  women  and  young 
girls,  rustling  by  in  rich  fall  costumes,  looked 
back  at  him  and  whispered  together.  Little 
children^  swinging  from  their  nurse's  hands, 


ON  THE  DOWN  GRADE.  211 

regarded  him  curiously ;  the  gaunt  shadows  of 
the  leafless  trees  that  at  noon  were  short  on  the 
asphalt  walks,  wheeled  and  lengthened  softly 
over  the  turf.  The  sun  dropped  below  the 
roofs;  the  shadows  were  diffused,  and  the 
after-glow  mounted  to  the  rows  of  upper- 
windows  fronting  the  square.  Gray  twilight 
came  down,  and  the  myriad  gas-jets  started 
into  life  through  all  the  purple  vistas  of 
streets,  rising  to  meet  the  long,  bright  lanes 
of  sky.  A  four-year-old  child,  loitering  behind 
a  white-capped  maid,  paused  beside  Hilgard's 
bench  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  knee. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Why  don't  you  go 
home?" 

The  childish  treble  pierced  Hilgard's  dull 
mood,  but  he  had  no  answer  for  the  question. 
The  maid  returned  in  angry  haste  and  hur 
ried  the  child  away. 

Hilgard  got  upon  his  feet,  stung  by  this 
involuntary  tribute  to  his  condition.  Had  he 
then  become  an  object  of  such  public  com 
miseration  that  even  the  babes  pitied  him, 
and  counselled  him  out  of  their  wisdom  of 
the  nursery  ?  He  left  the  park  and  crossed 
the  square,  with  an  access  of  energy  in  his 


212  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

step ;  but  in  the  warm,  gas-lit  wilderness  of 
the  hotel,  his  strength  flagged  suddenly.  The 
elevator  was  crowded  with  ladies,  in  street 
toilets,  ascending  to  their  rooms.  Hilgard 
noticed,  with  vague  surprise,  that  the  tremu 
lous  upward  motion  made  him  giddy.  In  less 
than  a  moment  he  reached  the  floor  on  which 
his  room  was  ;  but  to  him  it  seemed  he  had 
been  standing  a  long  time  in  the  dimly  lighted, 
perfumed  cell,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  reflec 
tion  of  the  quivering  chandelier  in  the  polished 
panel  opposite,  while  women,  whose  draperies 
crushed  against  him,  talked  to  each  other  in 
far-away  voices,  like  those  of  a  dream.  He 
staggered  as  he  stepped  into  the  corridor, 
and  apologized  mechanically  to  a  lady  whom 
he  had  jostled. 

She  appeared  to  be  a  newly  arrived  traveller, 
waiting  for  the  call-boy  with  her  hand-luggage 
to  show  her  to  her  room.  She  had  a  sensi 
tive  face,  of  a  type  we  instinctively  refer  to 
pictures  of  a  by-gone  generation  of  faces.  She 
looked  at  Hilgard  earnestly,  as  he  lifted  his 
hat  and  muttered  his  apology ;  and  with  a 
slight,  nervous  blush,  appealed  to  him  in  her 
momentary  annoyance. 


ON  THE  DOWN  GRADE.  213 

"I  think  I  have  mistaken  the  floor  my 
room  is  on.  The  boy  was  to  meet  me  at  the 
elevator  with  my  things  and  show  me  to 
fifty-six." 

"  Fifty-six  is  on  this  floor,  madam,  —  I  am 
going  that  way." 

The  lady  hesitated,  as  if  she  felt  under  some 
obligation  to  wait  for  the  call-boy,  and  then 
followed  Hilgard  along  the  hall.  He  tried  to 
keep  the  number  in  his  mind  ;  the  succession 
of  white  doors,  with  gilded  numerals  on  them, 
swam  before  his  eyes;  the  hall  seemed  end 
less,  and  the  floor  to  rise  and  sink  under  his 
feet  like  the  deck  of  a  ship.  He  stopped,  and 
steadied  himself  against  the  wall. 

"  Why,  here  it  is  !  thank  you  very  much  !  " 
the  lady  said,  in  a  tone  of  relief.  At  that  mo 
ment  a  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall 
unclosed,  and  the  shock  of  a  sudden  heart 
breaking  recognition  roused  Hilgard  like  a 
blow  in  the  face.  Cecil  Conrath  had  opened 
the  door  of  fifty-six,  and  stood  the  width  of  the 
corridor  away  from  him,  looking  into  his  face 
with  the  blank  gaze  of  a  stranger. 

The  little  lady  made  an  exclamatory  rush 
forward,  and  the  door  was  shut.  Hilgard 


214  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

stood  a  moment  staring  at  the  number  out 
side  it,  and  then  went  to  his  own  room.  He 
made  an  effort  to  light  the  gas,  groped  about 
helplessly,  and  sank  down  in  a  chair,  the 
blood  heavily  surging  in  his  veins.  It  ebbed 
wave  by  wave,  and  his  life  seemed  ebbing 
with  it,  in  slower  and  slower  pulsations. 

The  servant,  coming  in  a  few  minutes  later 
with  a  pitcher  of  ice-water,  found  him,  in  the 
dim  light  that  streamed  into  the  room  from 
the  transom,  lying  back  in  his  chair,  white 
and  senseless. 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  215 


XIII. 

NUMBER   FIFTY-TWO. 

THAT  part  of  his  journey  to  the  mountain 
camp  which  had  reference  to  his  daughter, 
had  not  given  Mr.  Conrath  much  uneasiness 
beforehand.  He  thought  of  her  as  little  more 
than  a  child,  to  be  petted  into  forgetfulness 
of  the  shock  she  had  suffered.  He  did  not 
know  how  fully  Cecil  might  be  acquainted 
with  the  circumstances  of  her  brother's  death, 
and  he  avoided  any  allusion  to  the  subject ; 
at  the  same  time  he  resented  her  unyouthful 
silence,  and  the  absence  of  all  appeal  on  her 
part  to  the  paternal  refuge. 

Cecil  was  not  aware  of  the  reproachful  power 
of  her  grief.  The  effort  by  which  she  had 
set  every  strained  and  quivering  nerve  to  its 
silent  endurance  had  left  her  no  strength  for 
self-analysis  or  for  comprehension  of  another's 
phases  of  feeling.  As  for  help  in  her  trial,  she 
would  sooner  have  asked  the  prayers  of  the 


216  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

church  for  one  whose  burden  was  heavier 
than  she  could  bear,  than  have  appealed  to 
that  automatic  relation  which  was  all  she  had 
ever  known  of  fatherhood. 

When  Mr.  Conrath  proposed  to  find  a  suit 
able  escort  for  her  on  her  homeward  journey, 
and  to  remain  himself  a  week  longer  in  the 
camp,  for  the  purpose  of  investigating  an  in 
terest  his  son  was  said  to  have  had  in  some 
presumably  valuable,  though  undeveloped, 
mining  properties,  Cecil  gave  a  listless  assent. 
It  was  arranged  that  she  should  travel  in 
company  with  a  lady  experienced  in  railway 
journeys,  opportunely  going  east,  as  far  as 
Chicago,  and  be  met  in  New  York  by  her 
mother's  sister,  Miss  Esther  Hartwell.  At 
the  hotel  selected  by  Mr.  Conrath  they  were 
to  await  his  return  and  his  subsequent  plans 
for  Cecil's  future  home. 

Home !  —  the  very  word  seemed  to  mock 
the  fragmentary,  wistful  existence  which  had 
been  her  life  since  early  childhood. 

Mr.  Conrath's  enforced  stay  in  the  camp  was 
prolonged  from  day  to  day,  while  Miss  Esther 
silently  repined  at  her  life  of  idleness,  with  her 
fall  sewing  yet  undone,  in  a  city  full  of  men 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  217 

and  women,  all  overworking  or  overplaying  — 
while  Cecil  listened  to  every  footstep  along 
the  hall,  and  paled  or  flushed  expectantly, 
growing  daily  more  restless  with  the  haunting 
thought  of  Hilgard  near,  yet  never  seen. 

Ten  days  had  passed,  and  Hilgard  had 
been  sinking  deeper,  day  by  day,  in  that 
rift  of  oblivion  into  which  he  had  fallen. 
The  tide  of  movement  in  the  city  set  south 
ward  in  the  morning  and  northward  at  night, 
through  the  shrill  echoing  channels  of  its 
streets.  There  were  inquirers  for  him  among 
Hilgard's  acquaintances,  but  they  answered 
each  other  that  he  had  gone  out  of  town, 
probably,  on  that  visit  to  his  brothers,  which 
he  had  mentioned  among  his  earliest  inten 
tions.  He  lay,  drifting  fast  toward  the  crisis 
of  his  strength. 

"  Cecil,  do  you  know  we  have  a  case  of 
fever  in  our  hall  ?  " 

Miss  Esther  had  gathered  the  information 
from  scraps  of  talk  in  the  elevator  during  the 
day's  ascendings  and  descendings,  and  con 
firmed  it  through  the  medium  of  one  of  the 
chamber-maids.  "•  It  is  only  two  doors  from 


218  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

us, —  fifty-two.  No  one  comes  to  see  him, 
Ellen  says,  except  the  Doctor ;  and  he  has  a 
hired  nurse." 

Miss  Esther  Hartwell  was  from  the  country, 
and  classed  hired  nurses  with  baker's  bread 
and  shop-made  underclothing,  and  other  des 
olations  which  properly  belonged  with  the 
homeless  existence  of  people  who  lived  in 
hotels  and  boarding-houses. 

"  It 's  been  running  more  than  a  week, 
now,"  Miss  Esther  continued ;  "  they  say  he 
has  typhoid  symptoms,  if  it  isn't  the  real 
thing.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  n't  sit  here,  day 
after  day,  with  my  hands  folded  !  " 

Miss  Esther  was  not  literally  sitting  with 
her  hands  folded ;  on  the  contrary,  her  active 
habits  were  asserting  themselves  on  a  circuit 
of  the  room,  for  the  purpose  of  softly  dispers 
ing,  with  a  hare's-foot  brush,  the  faint  gray 
dust-films  which  had  settled  on  the  ornaments 
and  carvings.  The  puffs  of  hair  laid  against 
her  temples  looked  as  if  a  faint  gray  film  had 
settled  on  them  too,  but  it  had  come  grad 
ually,  and  would  not  be  brushed  away  until 
the  finger  of  time  should  obliterate  the  gentle 
picture,  of  which  it  was  now  an  essential  part. 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  219 

It  would  be  as  impossible  to  think  of  Miss 
Esther  without  her  soft,  prim  side-puffs,  as 
without  her  gold  eyeglasses,  with  their  slen 
der,  worn  rims,  or  the  delicate  depressions 
around  her  mouth  and  nostrils. 

Cecil  was  standing  at  the  window,  with  her 
back  to  her  aunt,  her  elbows  resting  on  the 
low  sash,  her  head  bowed  between  her  hands 
until  her  forehead  touched  the  cool  window- 
pane. 

Miss  Esther  was  accustomed  to  Cecil's  long 
silences ;  she  thought  the  girl  brooded  too 
much,  but  she  remembered  her  own  youth, 
and  youth's  passionate  preoccupation  with  its 
own  troubles.  She  had  not  expected  from 
Cecil  much  demonstration  of  interest  in  that 
forlorn  sick-room,  which  appealed  so  strongly 
to  her  own  experienced  sympathies. 

"  I  Ve  known  cases,"  Miss  Esther  meditated, 
aloud,  "  where  they  slipped  away  just  at  the 
turn,  for  want  of  some  one  who  would  n't 
give  up  hope.  There  are  always  plenty  who 
will  say,  *  Oh,  let  him  rest  —  let  him  draw  his 
last  breath  in  peace  ! '  but  then  is  the  time  not 
to  think  of  rest." 

Miss  Esther  shut  the  brush   away  in  the 


220  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

drawer  of  a  side-table,  and  stood  with  her 
back  against  it,  still  wrestling  with  the  help 
ful  impulse,  of  which  she  was  half  ashamed, 
as  we  are  apt  to  be  of  gratuitous  impulses 
of  that  kind.  Her  eyeglass  fell,  and  tinkled 
softly  against  the  buttons  of  her  dress. 

"  Have  you  thought  of  offering  to  help  nurse 
him,  Aunt  Esther  ?  "  Cecil  asked. 

"  Anywhere  but  here  I  should  n't  stop  to 
think  about  it,  —  I  should  go  right  in !  "  Miss 
Esther  replied  with  energy.  "  After  all,  sup 
pose  he  is  a  stranger,"  she  argued  with  her 
own  doubts, — "he's  our  neighbor  in  one 
sense.  I  'm  ashamed  to  pass  that  door,  and 
never  even  ask  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do." 

Cecil  came  and  stood  beside  Miss  Esther, 
half-embracing  her,  and  crushing  her  firm 
young  cheek,  in  which  a  sympathetic  glow 
had  begun  to  brighten,  against  Miss  Esther's 
side-combs. 

"  You  are  good  enough  to  do  things  you 
feel  like  doing,  without  stopping  to  think. 
You  would  do  it  at  Little  Rest  ? " 

"  At  Little  Rest !  "  Miss  Esther  repeated, — 
"  this  is  n't  much  like  Little  Rest !  Here,  it 
is  the  first  law  for  every  one  to  mind  his  own 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  221 

business.  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind,  Cecil, 
that  he  is  the  same  young  man  I  met  in  the 
hall  the  night  I  came.  He  looked  so  strange  ! 
I  said  to  myself  then,  either  he 's  stricken  with 
some  sickness  or — "  (Cecil  looked  at  her  aunt 
fixedly,  while  the  arrested  blush  faded  from  her 
face)  —  "  or  else  he 's  been  drinking !  "  Miss 
Esther  concluded,  in  an  undertone,  burdened 
by  the  gravity  of  this  last  hypothesis. 

"  He  might  have  been  sick  or  dying,  but 
he  was  not  that !  "  Cecil  said.  She  stood  be 
fore  Miss  Esther,  and  put  out  her  hands  with 
a  pleading  gesture. 

"  Will  you  go  to  him  now !  Don't  stop  to 
think  any  longer.  What  does  it  matter  where 
we  are?  Ah — go!"  she  entreated  in  her 
sudden  unaccountable  excitement. 

"  Why,  Cecil,  do  you  care  so  much  ? "  Miss 
Esther  was  bewildered  by  the  girl's  mood,  but 
she  had  ever  a  gentle  construction  for  all 
moods  but  her  own,  and  found  in  this  only 
an  occasion  for  self-reproach.  She  took  the 
young  girl  into  her  arms  and  let  the  convulsed 
face  hide  itself  against  her  shoulder. 

"  Your  heart  is  sore,  poor  child ;  too  sore 
to  bear  anybody's  pain !  I  have  n't  under- 


THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

stood  you;  I  thought  you  were  wrapped  up 
in  your  own  trouble  ! " 

"  This  —  this  is  my  trouble !  "  Cecil  con 
fessed,  helplessly. 

"  Don't  make  too  much  of  it,  dear.  I  'm 
sorry  I  told  you.  After  all,  he  is  a  stranger ! " 

"  I  hope  he  is ;  but,  you  must  find  out  his 
name !  " 

Miss  Esther  had  left  the  room  and  arrived 
at  the  neighboring  door  of  number  fifty-two, 
scarcely  conscious  of  the  steps  which  had 
taken  her  there ;  but  once  inside  that  door, 
face  to  face  with  an  extremity  of  need,  which 
she  recognized  at  a  glance,  her  perturbation 
was  stilled  by  that  active  sense  of  power  the 
true  nurse  feels  in  the  presence  of  such  need. 

On  her  return  to  her  own  room,  an  hour 
later,  she  found  Cecil  lying  on  the  bed,  her 
eyes  shutr  her  clasped  hands  close  huddled 
beneath  her  chin. 

Miss  Esther  softly  drew  up  the  coverlet 
over  the  motionless  figure. 

"  I  'm  not  asleep,"  Cecil  said,  opening  her 
eyes.  She  kept  them  on  Miss  Esther's  face, 
intently  searching  its  expression.  "  What  is 
his  name  ? "  she  asked. 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  223 

An  intuition  had  come  to  Miss  Esther  dur 
ing  her  absence  which  made  it  hard  for  her  to 
answer.  She  sat  down  by  the  bed  and  laid 
her  head  by  Cecil's  on  the  pillow.  The  girl 
did  not  repeat  her  question,  but  her  hand 
wandered  with  a  beseeching  touch  toward  the 
face  beside  her  own.  Miss  Esther  took  the 
hand  and  held  it  fast  while  she  said,  in 
the  same  hushed  voice  she  had  used  in  the 
sick-room,  — 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing.  He  is  that  — 
Hilgard ! " 

The  imprisoned  hand  closed  quickly  within 
her  own  and  then  relaxed.  Cecil  turned  her 
face  away. 

"  Did  you  know  him,  Cecil  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Child,  what  can  there  be  between  him 
and  Harry  Conrath's  sister  ? " 

"Nothing;  but  I  may  wish  him  not  to 
die." 

Cecil  lay,  dull-eyed  and  silent,  while  Miss 
Esther  stroked  her  unresponsive  hand.  Sud 
denly  she  withdrew  it,  and,  rising  on  her  elbow 
in  the  bed,  demanded,— 

"  What  have  you  heard  about  him  ?  " 


224  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

"  I  have  heard  only  what  your  father  wrote 
me." 

"  My  father  will  never  know  the  whole 
story  ;  he  knows  —  only  one  cruel  thing !  " 

Cecil  sank  back  on  her  pillow  again,  press 
ing  her  hands  hard  over  her  eyes. 

u  It  is  no  use !  I  could  never  make  you 
understand  —  no  one  will  ever  understand ! 
Oh,  why  are  men  put  in  such  places?" 

She  tossed  her  arms  wide  apart  upon  the 
bed,  turning  a  look  of  suffering  past  all  con 
cealment  upon  the  woman  who  was  nearest  to 
her. 

"  I  love  him,"  she  whispered,  in  all  that  was 
left  of  her  choked  utterance.  "  I  could  not 
take  happiness  from  him  —  but  now  —  now  I 
may  go  to  him !  Now  I  can  be  merciful." 

"Hush,  my  poor  child!  Mercy  is  not  in 
your  hands,"  Miss  Esther  said.  "  He  is  very 
young  —  he  is  very  sick,"  she  added,  simply, 
as  if  in  further  extenuation. 

"  But  he  was  not  to  blame  !  "  Cecil  started 
up  again,  and  slipped  from  the  bed  to  the 
floor,  beginning,  with  trembling  hands,  in 
stinctively  to  coil  up  her  loosened  braids. 
"  I  am  going  to  him.  It  cannot  do  any  harm 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  225 

He  shall  know  —  "  She  stopped,  arrested  by 
a  new  and  sickening  doubt.  "  Aunt  Esther, 
have  you  told  me  all  ? " 

"  My  dear,  there  is  not  much  to  tell.  He 
is  very  low.  You  must  not  expect  him  to 
know  you.  It  is  the  same  to  him  who  comes 
or  goes." 

Cecil  received  this  blow  in  silence.  She 
wavered  in  restless  circles,  like  a  broken- 
winged  bird,  around  the  room,  and  settled 
despairingly  at  last  at  Miss  Esther's  knee. 

"  You  will  help  him  just  the  same,  now 
you  know  who  he  is  ? " 

"  Help  him  ?  Why,  Cecil,  what  kind  of  a 
woman  do  you  think  I  am  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  !  It  is  only  I  who  can  do  such 
things.  I  let  him  go  away  that  night  without 
a  sign.  You  saw  he  needed  help.  It  was 
cruel  to  shut  the  door  in  his  face." 

"  Why,  if  you  mean  that  night  in  the  hall, 
/shut  the  door,  Cecil.  I  remember  —  " 

"  Won't  you  go  back  to  him  now  ?"  Cecil 
interrupted.  "  You  have  been  a  long  time 
away.  It  will  do  no  good  for  me  to  go,  but  I 
must  —  I  must  see  him !  " 

Miss  Esther  yielded  reluctantly  to  Cecil's 
15 


226  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

desire.  The  relation  between  Hilgard  and 
her  niece  seemed  too  unreal,  and,  under  the 
late  circumstances,  too  unnatural  to  be  ad 
mitted.  Miss  Esther,  as  Cecil  had  guessed, 
only  knew  concerning  Hilgard  the  one  fact 
of  the  fatal  conjunction  of  his  name  with  that 
of  her  nephew.  Mr.  Conrath  had  written 
only  enough  to  forestall  rumor.  He  had 
neither  defended  his  son  nor  accused  Hilgard, 
but  the  simple  fact  of  his  death  left  Conrath 
master  of  sympathies  that  were  already  his  by 
the  tie  of  kinship,  and  had  never  been  alien 
ated  by  intimate  knowledge  of  his  character. 

But  Cecil's  grief  was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 
It  was  the  more  impressive  from  the  silence 
that  had  preceded  this  sudden  outburst  of  its 
smothered  pain. 

The  two  women  went  together  along  the 
corridor  to  the  door  of  the  sick-room.  Miss 
Esther  met  the  nurse,  who  admitted  them 
with  a  few  words  of  explanation,  while  Cecil, 
heeding  no  one,  stared  with  dread  into  tho 
gloom  of  the  cool,  shaded  room. 

The  tenant  of  fifty-two  lay  sunk  on  a  white, 
thinly-clad  bed,  the  lines  of  his  long  form 
showing  beneath  the  folds  of  the  coverlid, 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  227 

like  a  carved  effigy  on  a  tomb.  One  hand, 
stretched  by  his  side,  stirred  slightly,  but  the 
profile  outlined  against  the  swell  of  the  pillow 
was  as  immobile  as  a  death-mask.  Cecil  went 
to  him  and  cowered  on  the  floor  beside  him, 
sparing  her  shrinking  sight  not  one  detail  of 
the  change.  She  crept  close  to  the  bed  and 
laid  her  white  cheek  in  the  hollow  of  his  dry, 
wasted  hand.  Her  breath  came  in  hard,  tear 
less  sobs.  She  gazed  within  the  parted  lids, 
where  a  dull,  sightless  glimmer  remained 
There  was  no  recognition ;  no  need  for  her 
to  shrink  where  there  was  no  importunity ;  to 
resist  where  argument  and  appeal  had  ceased. 
His  estate,  now,  was  less  than  her  own.  The 
ruined  tenement  which  had  been  his  house  of 
life  was  void  and  silent,  welcoming  no  one, 
disputing  no  intrusion. 

Though  she  had  judged  and  sentenced  him, 
she  had  held  him  blameless.  She  worshipped 
the  steadfastness  with  which  he  had  turned 
back  to  his  barren  post  of  duty  in  the  face  of 
a  young  man's  last  temptation.  Who  would 
ever  understand,  in  the  world  of  peace  and 
order,  that  wild  summons  which  had  forced 
an  instant's  choice  upon  him!  and  where 


228  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

would  peace  and  order  be  found,  if  there  were 
no  men  to  obey  when  such  a  summons  came ! 
And  she  had  made  him  feel  that  they  were 
forever  aliens  by  this  deed. 

"  My  brother,"  she  whispered,  "  my  two 
brothers  !  God  judge  between  you,  and  let  me 
call  you  both  mine  !  " 

A  small  clock  on  the  mantel  ticked  breath 
lessly,  as  if  hurrying  on  the  moments  to  the 
long  silence  on  the  threshold  of  which  she 
knelt.  In  that  sudden  collapse  of  hope  which 
youth  can  know,  she  felt  that  he  was  already 
gone.  She  could  not  conceive  that  a  change 
so  terrible  might  not  be  final. 

Miss  Esther  went  to  her  and  with  gentle 
insistence  drew  her  away.  At  the  door  Cecil 
looked  back  as  one  who  has  laid  a  last  flower 
on  the  bosom  of  the  dead. 

Miss  Esther  watched  for  the  Doctor's  even 
ing  visit,  and,  when  his  examination  of  the 
patient  was  over,  she  proffered  her  help  for 
the  night-watch  in  a  low-voiced  conversation 
with  him  outside  the  sick-room  door.  Her 
quaint  earnestness  was  mingled  with  a  prac 
tical  efficiency  which  the  Doctor  recognized 
and  readily  availed  himself  of.  At  the  close 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  229 

of  their  talk  he  alluded  to  the  young  lady 
visitor  of  whom  the  nurse  had  told  him. 

"  A  friend  of  the  patient's  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  is  my  niece,  Doctor,"  Miss  Esther 
replied.  The  Doctor  did  not  fail  to  note  the 
evasion  and  her  flush  of  embarrassment. 

"The  patient  is  a  relative  of  yours,  did  I 
understand  you  to  say,  or  of  your  niece  ? " 

"  He  is  not  a  relative,  Doctor ;  I  have  no 
excuse  for  offering  my  help  —  " 

"  Except  the  best  of  excuses,  madam,  — 
that  your  help  is  needed.  Mrs.  Wren  inferred 
that  our  patient  and  the  young  lady  were  not 
strangers  to  each  other ;  does  she  propose  to 
offer  her  assistance,  too  ?  " 

"  No,  Doctor,  —  the  patient  is  not  a  stran 
ger  to  us,  but  my  niece  has  no  idea  of  helping 
to  nurse  him." 

"  Well,  you  know,  it  might  n't  be  altogether 
a  bad  idea.  There  might  be  circumstances 
that  would  make  her  presence,  at  least,  a 
most  fortunate  thing  for  the  case.  I  confess 
I  counted  on  more  resistance  on  the  patient's 
part  to  the  progress  of  the  disease.  There 
would  be  no  need  for  volunteers  by  this  time, 
if  the  case  had  developed  as  I  expected.  With 


230  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

his  physique  and  at  his  age  I  did  n't  antici 
pate  the  least  trouble.  I  'm  inclined  to  think 
there  has  been  some  shock  or  strain  that 's 
telling  against  him  now.  The  fact  is,  it 
struck  me  from  the  first  that  he  was  n't  par 
ticularly  anxious  to  get  well." 

Miss  Esther  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then, 
as  the  Doctor  appeared  to  wait  for  her  to 
speak,  she  said :  — 

"From  what  I  know  of  him,  I  shouldn't 
think  he  would  be." 

"But  why  shouldn't  he?  As  far  as  one 
can  judge  by  the  outside  of  a  man,  he  is  well 
fitted  to  live." 

"  Oh,  Doctor,  there  has  been  trouble ! " 
Miss  Esther  admitted,  desperately. 

"  I  supposed  so.  He  appears  to  have  some 
thing  on  his  mind.  It 's  often  a  very  obstinate 
feature  —  the  mind,  you  know.  Mrs.  Wren 
said  the  young  lady  appeared  to  be  a  good 
deal  affected  by  the  patient's  condition.  Was 
it  with  a  particular  interest  in  him  she  came 
in  to  see  him  ?  It 's  —  well  —  a  little  unusual, 
you  know,  unless  there 's  some  previous  rela 
tion.  This  trouble  you  speak  of  —  is  it  a  com 
mon  trouble  —  I  mean  a  mutual  trouble  ? " 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  231 

"  Yes,  Doctor,"  Miss  Esther  replied,  blush 
ing  with  a  sense  of  the  responsibility  imposed 
upon  her.  "  It  is  partly  mutual  —  that  is  — 
I'm  not  really  in  her  confidence,  but  he  is 
a  great  deal  to  her.  I  am  sure  of  that.  It 
is  a  shock  to  her  to  see  him  like  this.  I 
don't  know  what  influence  she  may  have  over 
him  —  " 

The  Doctor  smiled,  as  if  to  lighten  Miss 
Esther's  sense  of  the  awfulness  of  her  dis 
closure. 

"Those  things  are  often  reciprocal,  you 
know,  Madam.  Is  your  niece's  name  Cecil, 
by  the  way  ?  " 

Miss  Esther  assented  in  surprise. 

"  The  patient  has  mentioned  that  name. 
He  wanders  a  little  at  times  —  can't  get  the 
number  fifty-six  out  of  his  mind."  The  Doc 
tor  glanced  casually  up  at  the  door  opposite. 

"  That  is  the  number  of  our  room,"  Miss 
Esther  explained. 

"Well,  Madam,  if  there  is  no  serious  ob 
jection,  I  wish  the  patient  could  see  your 
niece,  quietly,  you  know,  when  he  seems  to 
be  conscious.  It  may  be  another  chance  ID 
his  favor." 


232  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

"I  don't  see  what  my  niece  can  do  for 
him,  Doctor  —  except  deceive  him,"  said  Miss 
Esther,  with  shrinking  conscientiousness. 

"  Our  business,  Madam,  is  to  get  him  well. 
He  must  take  care  of  himself  afterward." 

About  nine  o'clock  Miss  Esther  began  her 
night  toilet  in  preparation  for  watching  in 
stead  of  sleeping.  She  took  out  her  tortoise- 
shell  side-combs  and  rolled  up  her  puffs  into 
little  flat  rings  against  her  temples  and  fas 
tened  each  with  a  hair-pin.  She  substituted 
a  warm  wrapper  for  her  rustling  dress,  and 
drew  on  a  pair  of  noiseless  knitted  shoes. 
She  wound  her  watch,  and  gave  it  a  little 
shake  before  trusting  to  its  good  faith ;  then, 
in  the  silence  of  her  own  room,  she  murmured 
to  herself  the  first  verses  of  the  psalm  begin 
ning:  "Except  the  Lord  build  the  house, 
they  labor  in  vain  that  build  it;  except  the 
Lord  keep  the  city,  the  watchman  waketh  but 
in  vain."  And,  in  the  familiar  words,  she 
commended  her  labors  of  the  night  to  the 
source  of  all  her  modest  courage. 

There  was  one  more  duty  to  perform.  She 
went  to  the  bed  where  Cecil  lay  in  a  stupor 
of  hopeless  grief. 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  233 

"  Cecil,  my  dear,  the  Doctor  thinks  we  may 
need  your  help.  Not  to-night,  perhaps,  but 
you  must  be  ready.  You  must  not  go  to  bed 
without  food,  if  it's  only  a  glass  of  milk. 
And  you  need  not  waste  your  strength  mourn 
ing  for  that  young  man  while  he  is  living. 
Better  save  it  to  help  him  keep  alive  !  " 

Miss  Esther  had  seldom  spoken  to  better 
purpose,  but  she  did  not  wait  to  see  the  effect 
of  her  words. 

Morning,  when  it  came,  found  the  watchers 
hopeful. 

Limp  as  sea-weed  forsaken  by  the  tide, 
Hilgard  lay  waiting  for  the  returning  wave  of 
life  to  uplift  and  outspread  the  draggled  fila 
ments  of  his  consciousness.  The  tide  was 
creeping  back ;  at  dawn  it  floated  him  off 
into  a  sleep  like  that  of  a  new-born  babe, 
from  which  he  woke  scarcely  less  weak  than 
one,  to  rest  his  eyes  on  the  face  of  Cecil 
Conrath. 

During  his  waking  hours,  all  that  first  day 
of  hope,  his  large-eyed  gaze  followed  her  with 
a  mute  surmise.  She  was  always  silent,  but 
there  was  a  mysterious  joy  in  her  face  which 
puzzled  him;  he  could  not  connect  it  with 


234  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

himself.  The  appeal  in  his  eyes  grew  sharper 
with  his  strengthening  pulse,  until,  wearied 
with  this  fair,  unanswering  apparition  of  a 
forbidden  hope,  he  turned  away  from  it,  and 
tears  of  baffled  weakness  stole  from  under  his 
closed  lids.  Cecil  laid  her  cool  touch  upon 
his  wrist,  and  held  it  there  until  he  turned 
his  head  toward  her  again,  and,  lifting  his 
eyes,  faintly  formed  the  words,  — 

"  Why  did  you  wish  me  to  live  ?  " 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  but  steadily  meet 
ing  his  eyes,  with  that  primal  question  in 
them,  answered,  — 

"  Because  I  could  not  die,  too." 

He  continued  to  gaze  at  her,  as  if  ponder 
ing  her  words,  and  trying  if  their  meaning 
would  stretch  to  the  limit  of  his  reviving 
longing.  Cecil  bent  her  head  low,  to  hide 
the  wild-rose  color  that  bloomed  suddenly  in 
her  cheeks. 

"  You  are  going  to  get  well,  for  my  sake," 
she  said. 

This  was  Cecil's  deception. 

No  renunciation  could  have  been  quieter  or 
more  absolute  in  intention  than  hers,  when 
she  resolved  that  the  way  should  not  be  left 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  235 

open  for  Hilgard's  love  to  follow  her  when 
she  left  him  again. 

Her  father  returned,  and  robbed  her  meek 
sacrifice  of  its  dignity  by  making  it  no  longer 
voluntary. 

Mr.  Conrath  had  no  sympathy  with  any  form 
of  practical  Christianity  which  took  the  women 
of  his  family  into  the  sick-rooms  of  pilgrims 
and  strangers.  He  found  an  absolute  incom 
patibility  between  Miss  Esther's  spirit  of  pro 
miscuous  helpfulness  and  her  chaperonage  of 
his  daughter.  But,  when  the  name  of  the 
patient  transpired,  Mr.  Conrath  permitted 
himself  a  vigorous  use  of  language  in  charac 
terizing  this  feminine  crusade.  He  was  under 
no  illusions  as  to  the  part  his  son  had  taken 
in  the  collision  between  the  Led-Horse  and 
the  Shoshone;  the  facts  made  it  undeniably 
hard  for  Conrath's  father  to  be  magnanimous, 
since  he  was  scarcely  in  a  position  to  forgive 
Hilgard  for  defending  the  trust  in  his  keeping 
from  his  son's  rapacity ;  but  he  did  not  pro 
pose  that  his  daughter  should  be  the  hostage 
of  his  future  relations  with  the  knight  of  the 
Led-Horse. 

Cecil  was  at  once  called  upon  to  decide  be- 


236  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

tween  two  alternatives,  either  of  which  would 
remove  her  from  her  undesirable  proximity. 
The  choice  lay  between  Havana  and  her  ster> 
mother's  company,  and  her  grandmother  Hart- 
well's  house  at  Little  Rest.  Without  hesita 
tion,  Cecil  chose  to  go  down  into  the  country 
with  Miss  Esther  to  Little  Rest. 

She  doubted  long,  on  the  eve  of  her  depart 
ure,  —  watching  the  night  through,  in  weary 
tossings,  —  whether  to  go  away  without  a 
sign,  or  trust  herself  to  one  last  expression  of 
her  love  to  soften  the  fact  of  her  desertion. 

When  Hilgard  awoke  the  next  day  from 
one  of  his  long,  restoring  sleeps,  a  familiar 
perfume  stole  luxuriously  upon  his  languid 
senses.  The  nurse  brought  to  his  bedside  a 
bunch  of  long-stemmed,  heavy-headed  roses, 
and  a  note  which  had  lain  neighbor  to  them 
long  enough  to  borrow  a  hint  of  their  fra 
grance.  But  it  carried  its  own  sting,  keener 
than  the  sharpest  of  their  healthy  thorns. 
It  was  hastily  written  in  pencil,  in  the  hand 
Hilgard  had  seen  once  before,  when  Cecil  had 
bidden  him  to  that  forlorn  tryst  in  the  gulch. 

The  words  of  the  note  had  been  the  result 
of  Cecil's  native  necessity  to  be  honest.  "  If 


NUMBER  FIFTY-TWO.  237 

it  does  harm,"  she  had  said  to  herself,  worn 
out  with  self-conflict,  "  I  cannot  help  it.  I 
will  give  up  everything,  but  he  shall  know 
that  I  love  him."  She  wrote :  — 

"  My  father  has  returned,  and  we  leave 
town  to-day.  You  must  get  well.  I  shall 
know,  though  I  never  see  you,  that  your  life 
will  justify  my  love  and  faith.  You  need  not 
try  to  find  me.  We  are  not  for  each  other  in 
this  world." 

Cecil's  love  had  not  enlightened  her  very 
deeply  concerning  the  character  of  her  lover, 
if  she  could  imagine  him  restored  to  what  he 
had  been  when  she  had  first  seen  him,  and 
yet  passive  under  her  gentle  proscription.  It 
served,  however,  as  the  tonic  which  his  will 
required.  It  stung  him  into  a  passionate  re 
solve  to  get  control  once  more  of  that  good 
servant,  his  body,  with  which  he  had  so  lately 
been  willing  to  part  company. 


238  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 


XIY. 

LITTLE   REST. 

"  WHY  was  it  called  <  Little  Rest'?  "  Cecil 
asked,  as  the  carriage  slowly  climbed  the 
hill  from  the  station.  She  had  known  the 
name  since  childhood,  but  its  familiarity  had 
dulled  her  ear  to  its  meaning,  which  struck 
her  now  for  the  first  time. 

"  It  was  a  half-way  stopping  place  for  the 
stages  on  the  old  post  road,"  Miss  Esther 
replied.  "  They  changed  horses  at  Sullivan, 
two  miles  on.  This  long  hill  was  hard  for 
the  tired  horses ;  they  used  to  stop  at  the 
foot  of  the  first  rise  to  water  and  breathe 
them  a  little.  First  there  was  a  blacksmith's 
shop,  and  a  box  on  the  side  of  the  big  elm 
for  letters  and  papers ;  then  there  was  a 
tavern  called  '  The  Little  Kest.'  " 

Cecil  softly  repeated  the  name  to  herself. 
The  horses  dropped  into  a  steady,  hard-pulling 
walk,  after  their  first  spurt  up  the  long,  steep 


LITTLE  REST.  239 

grade,  which  was  broken  at  intervals  by  shal 
low,  transverse  hollows  to  lead  off  the  water. 

The  Hartwell  house  stood  at  the  end  of  a 
broad,  grass-grown  lane  which  joined  the 
main  road  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  Cecil's 
memories  of  her  grandmother's  house  went 
back  when  she  was  just  tall  enough  to  see  her 
face,  distorted  in  miniature  reflection,  in  the 
polished  brass  door-knobs  ;  when,  to  her  small 
stride,  the  meadow-grass  in  June  was  a  trop 
ical  jungle,  and  a  seat  among  the  low  apple- 
tree  boughs  in  the  orchard  had  seemed  from 
the  ground  a  perilous  adventure. 

In  those  days  she  had  found  it  a  long 
walk  from  the  white-painted  gate-posts  up 
the  straight  drive  to  the  high-pillared  porch. 
The  house  had  been  built  during  the  white 
wooden  temple  period  of  domestic  architect 
ure,  which  belonged  to  the  early  eighteen 
hundreds.  Its  formal  lines  were  repeated  in 
those  of  the  leafless  locust-trees,  facing  each 
other,  on  either  side  of  the  drive,  in  a 
stately  expectancy  —  as  of  the  arrival  of  some 
guest  who  never  came,  or  the  passing  of 
bridal  carriages,  or  a  funeral  procession  from 
the  white-panelled  front-door  beneath  the 


240  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

porch.  This  fancy  occurred  to  Cecil  looking 
from  the  window  of  the  hack,  which  had 
stopped  before  the  closed  gate.  The  driver 
called  to  a  man  who  was  raking  the  dead 
leaves  into  heaps  upon  the  withered  grass 
of  the  door-yard.  He  was  an  elderly  man, 
and  he  came  deliberately,  first  hooking  his 
rake  in  the  low  boughs  of  a  tree.  He  put 
his  shoulder  under  the  top  bar  of  the  gate 
and  lifted  it  on  its  hinges,  before  swinging 
it  open.  As  the  carriage  passed  through, 
he  stood  aside  and  nodded  silently  in  response 
to  Miss  Esther's  greeting. 

The  years  since  Cecil  had  seen  them  last 
had  thinned  the  ranks  of  the  locusts.  Here 
and  there  a  comrade  had  dropped  out  of 
line  ;  the  loss  of  their  close-set,  plumy  foliage 
suffered  the  amputation  of  limbs  to  be  seen. 
A  few  faded  leaves  clung  to  the  boughs,  or 
drifted  downward  in  the  still  air,  falling  as 
light  as  the  first  snow-flakes  would  soon  fall 
on  the  shrunken  turf.  The  rose-bushes  in 
the  beds  beneath  the  front  windows  were 
swathed  in  straw,  and  bowed  with  their 
heads  to  the  earth,  and  the  cords  which  had 
sustained  their  blossoming  sprays  in  summer, 


LITTLE  REST.  241 

hung  slack  and  rain-bleached  against  the  side 
of  the  house. 

Miss  Esther  straightened  the  door-mat  with 
her  foot,  before  entering.  She  did  not  knock, 
but  the  heavy  door  stuck  slightly,  and  opened 
with  a  jar  which  set  the  brass  knocker's  teeth 
a-chattering. 

The  interior  of  the  hall  was  darkened  by 
faded  green  silk  shades  drawn  down  over  the 
side-lights.  The  slender  mahogany  stair-rail 
made  a  square  turn  at  the  landing,  and,  con 
tinuing  upward,  caught  a  strong  gleam  of 
pure  white  light  from  an  uncurtained  window 
above.  A  tall  closet  opened  on  the  landing. 
Cecil  remembered  how  her  brother  had  been 
wont  to  conceal  himself  there  and  spring  out 
upon  her  unawares,  on  her  toilsome  journeys 
up  and  down  the  staircase,  with  a  doll  under 
each  arm,  and  a  doll's  wardrobe  in  a  broken 
bandbox  in  her  hands.  She  had  never,  as 
a  child,  been  able  to  pass  that  closet  with 
out  thrills  of  acute  terror ;  even  when  the 
doors  stood  ajar,  the  long,  dark  garments 
hanging  within  had  been  invested  to  her  imagi 
nation  with  the  mystery  of  which  they  were 
the  sole  proprietors. 

16 


242  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

Martha,  the  respectable  "  help,"  warned  by 
the  involuntary  noise  of  their  entrance,  met 
them  at  the  door  of  the  back  parlor,  and  in 
formed  them  that  Mrs.  Hartwell  was  in  her 
own  room  dressing  after  her  afternoon  nap. 
She  looked  deliberately  and  curiously  at  Cecil, 
glanced  at  the  hard-coal  fire  to  see  if  it  re 
quired  mending,  asked  Miss  Esther  some 
commonplace  question  about  their  journey, 
and  then  retired  to  the  region  of  the  kitchen. 

The  two  women,  left  alone,  were  silent ; 
Cecil  gazed  about  her,  taking  in  the  details 
of  the  room,  with  shocks  of  recollection,  and 
Miss  Esther  followed  wistfully  the  expression 
of  her  face.  The  presence  of  a  young  girl 
in  the  house  made  her  realize  its  subdued  life 
and  remoteness,  and  the  lapse  of  time  since 
her  own  girlhood. 

A  slow,  heavy  step  was  heard  moving  about 
overhead. 

"  I  will  go  up  and  see  mother,"  Miss  Esther 
said,  "  and  see  if  your  room  is  ready." 

Cecil  turned  toward  her  aunt  with  a  quick, 
affectionate  gesture. 

"  Everything  is  just  as  it  used  to  be  —  only 
then  I  did  not  know  how  lovely  it  was !  If 
you  only  knew  how  different  it  is  !  " 


LITTLE  REST.  243 

"Different?" 

"  From  other  places  I  have  known." 

"Ah,  my  dear,  if  you  had  only  come  to  us 
last  summer ! " 

Cecil  did  not  echo  this  wish ;  she  could 
hardly  have  told  why.  She  had  put  off  her 
hat  arid  wraps,  and  knelt  before  the  fire  as 
she  had  often  knelt  in  the  glow  of  the  great 
stone  chimney  of  the  Shoshone  cabin. 

"  I  must  be  content !  "  she  adjured  her  fail 
ing  heart,  on  the  threshold  of  this  new  life  of 
peace. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  thin  silk  behind  her, 
as  the  door  opened  and  her  grandmother  en 
tered.  She  greeted  Cecil  very  quietly,  almost 
coldly,  and,  to  her  exquisite  relief,  made  no 
allusion  to  the  circumstances  connected  with 
her  present  visit  to  Little  Rest.  She  took  the 
chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire,  rocking 
gently,  while  her  eyes  dwelt  on  Cecil's  face 
with  a  prolonged  and  retrospective  gaze.  Her 
white,  withered  hands,  with  the  purplish  veins 
showing  on  their  backs,  were  crossed  over 
her  pocket  handkerchief,  and  rested  on  the 
ample  slope  which  the  folds  of  her  black  satin 
apron  took  in  their  descent  toward  her  lap. 


244  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

Clear  white  muslin  bands  encircled  her 
wrists. 

The  placid  figure,  the  creak  of  the  chair  in 
its  brief  oscillations,  the  tinkle  of  a  coal  fall 
ing  on  the  iron  pan  beneath  the  grate,  had 
for  Cecil  a  fascinating,  dreamy  familiarity. 
In  the  plain  slab  of  black  marble  which 
crossed  the  chimney-piece,  there  was  a  darkly 
reflected  picture  of  the  room,  in  the  fading 
light.  Miss  Esther  was  laying  the  cloth  for 
tea,  and  placing  the  gilt  china  and  the  thin, 
bent-edged  silver  tea-service  in  order.  As  a 
child,  Cecil  had  often  watched  this  same 
picture  from  her  seat  on  the  embroidered 
footstool,  which  was  decorated  with  a  pink- 
eyed  lamb,  whose  outlines,  year  by  year,  be 
came  more  confused  with  the  green  and  bun0 
landscape  in  which  its  feet  were  set.  Even 
the  strip  of  orange-colored  sky  showing  be 
hind  the  thin  woods  on  the  hill,  looked  in 
through  the  window  with  a  friendly  light. 
Her  childhood  seemed  waiting,  with  gentle, 
appealing  touches  of  memory,  to  heal  the 
wounds  that  womanhood  had  given  her. 

When  Mrs.  Hartwell  spoke  to  Cecil  of  her 
brother,  it  was  always  of  the  little  boy  she 


LITTLE  REST.  245 

had  known  long  ago.  The  events  of  his  life 
subsequent  to  that  time  she  ignored,  as  if  he 
had  died  in  childhood.  Cecil  sometimes  won 
dered  at  this  silence,  but  she  accepted  it,  and 
was  unspeakably  grateful  for  it.  It  was  a 
silence  which  covered  more  than  the  proud 
old  heart  would  have  permitted  any  one  to 
guess.  Grandmamma  Hartwell  had  been  en 
lightened  in  various  ways  as  to  Harry  Con- 
rath's  development,  since  the  days  of  his 
childish  sovereignty  over  the  household  at 
Little  Rest.  As  a  trifling  incident  of  this 
development,  he  had  borrowed  sums  of  money 
of  her  from  time  to  time,  making  little  filial 
journeys  down  into  the  country  for  that 
purpose.  Miss  Esther  had  often  recalled 
these  visits  with  the  pathetic  appreciation 
with  which  elderly  retired  gentlewomen  dwell 
upon  the  disinterested  attentions  of  their 
young  male  relatives. 

Mrs.  Hartwell  had  received  the  news  of  her 
grandson's  death  with  outward  composure, 
but  for  many  days  she  had  been  strangely 
restless.  She  had  seemed  more  heavy  and 
silent  since  that  time  Only  once  had  she 
alluded  to  the  family  grief.  This  was  on  the 


246  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

evening  before  Miss  Esther's  journey  to  New 
York  to  meet  Cecil.  Miss  Esther  had  come 
into  her  mother's  room  to  cover  her  fire  and 
arrange  her  for  the  night.  The  old  lady  was 
sitting  up  in  bed  in  her  nightcap,  with  a 
loose,  wadded  silk  sack  over  her  night-dress. 
She  seemed  nervous,  and  watched  Miss 
Esther's  movements  with  impatience. 

"  Why  don't  you  let  Martha  attend  to  the 
fire  ?  She  does  it  perfectly  well.  What  is 
the  use  of  making  your  hands  rough  for 
nothing  at  all  except  a  fancy  that  I  'm  more 
comfortable  for  it.  I  'm  not.  I  can't  bear  to 
see  you  on  your  knees  before  that  grate." 

"  Martha  can  do  it  when  I  'm  away,"  Miss 
Esther  replied,  mildly. 

When  she  came  to  the  bedside  to  say  good 
night,  her  mother  detained  her  by  the  hand. 

"  Sit  down  a  minute,  Essie.  Put  that 
shawl  around  you."  Mrs.  Hartwell  did  not 
speak  again,  immediately.  She  was  rolling  up 
her  cap-string,  and  her  fingers  were  slightly 
tremulous.  "  I  don't  suppose  he  would  let  you 
bring  her  down  here,"  she  said,  presently. 

"  He  did  n't  say  anything  about  it ;  but  of 
course  he  could  n't  say  anything  in  a  tele- 


LITTLE  REST.  247 

gram.  Perhaps  there  will  be  a  letter  —  or 
she  may  know  what  he  wants  her  to  do." 

"  He  cannot  want  to  keep  her  in  that  hotel ! 
Strange  ways  !  Strange  ways  !  "  the  old  lady 
repeated. 

"  He  always  seemed  to  be  afraid  the  chil 
dren  would  get  —  well  —  our  ways,"  said  Miss 
Esther.  "  I  know  he  thinks  we  are  very  pro 
vincial  down  here." 

"  He  did  n't  seem  to  think  your  sister  was 
provincial — before  he  married  her."  After  a 
moment's  silence,  Mrs.  Hartwell  spoke  again, 
in  her  deep  voice.  "  Where  is  that  picture, 
Essie,  —  that  picture  of  Harry  ?  " 

"  Mother,  I  put  it  away.  I  thought  it 
would  hurt  you  to  see  it  all  the  time." 

"  People  have  to  get  used  to  being  hurt.  I 
wish  you  'd  bring  it  back." 


248  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 


XV. 

OLD    PATHWAYS. 

CECIL  had  not  been  brought  up  in  the 
habit  of  industry.  To  sit  perfectly  still  and 
unemployed  for  an  hour  at  a  time  was  no 
affliction  to  her,  as  it  would  have  been  to 
Miss  Esther  —  as  it  undeniably  was  to  Miss 
Esther  to  see  her  thus  listlessly  drifting,  day 
after  day,  with  the  tide  of  her  thoughts. 
She  spoke  to  her  mother  on  the  subject  of 
her  duty  to  the  young  girl  in  this  respect,  but 
Grandmamma  Hartwell  replied  :  — 

"  Let  her  alone  for  a  while.  She  does  n't 
look  like  one  who  needs  spurring." 

Cecil  was  never  troubled  by  the  long  gaze 
which  her  grandmother  would  often  fix  upon 
her,  as  they  sat  opposite  each  other  by  the 
fire.  She  made  no  attempt  to  respond  to  it. 
It  seemed  to  pass  beyond  her  own  personal 
ity,  and  to  recall,  in  her  face  and  movements, 
other  faces  and  older  histories  than  hers. 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  249 

But  she  was  happier  with  her  grandmother 
than  with  Miss  Esther,  whose  hovering  solici 
tude  fretted  her  and  increased  her  self-con 
sciousness.  Her  spirit  gradually  keyed  itself 
to  the  subdued  monotone  of  the  eventless 
days,  succeeding  each  other  with  the  soft, 
obliterating  effect  of  dropping  water.  The 
sharpness  of  her  pain  subsided  into  a  mental 
torpor  which  forbade  either  hope  or  passion 
ate  repining.  It  would  have  been  premature 
to  call  it  resignation. 

Cecil  did  not  look  unhappy  in  these  days, 
but  she  was  not  able  to  bear  the  house-life 
without  long,  solitary  walks  which  had  the 
effect,  almost,  of  a  voluntary  religious  exer 
cise. 

On  rainy  days,  she  would  stand  at  the  win 
dows  of  the  cold,  unused  parlor,  and  watch 
the  locust-trees  rock  and  strain  in  the  wind ; 
with  them,  in  spirit,  she  rode  out  the  storm. 
At  twilight  she  was  able  to  take  her  place  at 
the  piano,  whose  keys  had  a  thin,  sweet  tinkle, 
like  the  melodies  that  had  been  played  on  it 
in  its  prime.  The  folding-doors  were  parted, 
that  her  grandmother,  sitting  by  the  fire  in 
the  back  parlor,  might  listen  to  "  Joys  that 


250  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

we  've  tasted,"  and  "  Believe  me,  if  all  those 
endearing  young  charms,"  until  Martha  came 
in  with  the  lamp  and  announced  that  supper 
was  ready. 

Cecil  had  found  a  succession  of  harmonies 
that  fitted  the  words,  — 

"  Oh,  me,  oh,  me !  what  frugal  cheer 
My  love  doth  feed  upon," 

and  sometimes  in  moments  of  weakness  she 
gave  them  utterance,  enunciating  the  perilous 
syllables  softly,  with  a  sense  of  self-betrayal 
and  of  tampering  with  resolution. 

Fair  days  or  cloudy  always  found  her 
a-field,  climbing  the  brown  orchard  slope  be 
hind  the  house  and  fleetly  following  the  path 
which  led  down  through  the  gap  in  the  stone 
fence  to  the  level  meadows,  below  the  mill- 
dam.  It  was  a  country  of  abrupt  heights  and 
hollows ;  in  the  spring,  the  half-hidden  water 
courses  made  a  pleasant  noise  among  the 
hills,  but  only  the  greater  streams  survived 
the  summer. 

Cecil's  accustomed  way  took  her  across  the 
mill-dam  by  the  well-worn  path.  The  leaf 
less  willows  crossed  their  red-tipped  lances  in 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  251 

the  sun  above  her  head.  On  one  side  lay 
the  glassy  pond,  and,  below  the  wall  of  the 
dam,  the  shorn  meadow,  with  a  faint  new 
greenness  showing  along  the  course  of  the 
waste-water  from  the  dam.  The  path  rose 
abruptly,  beyond  the  mill-dam,  and  disap 
peared  on  the  wooded  hill  which  bounded  the 
eastern  shore  of  the  pond.  There  were  no 
long  outlooks  here,  but  there  was  seclusion 
and  peace  in  the  narrow  boundaries  of  the 
horizon.  The  sky  limits  were  confined ;  there 
was  no  mystery  of  far-off  line  of  sea  or 
estranging  plain.  The  hills  were  near  neigh 
bors  ;  their  language  was  content  rather  than 
aspiration. 

Cecil's  most  frequent  refuge  was  the  wood. 
Here  her  restless  footsteps  were  stayed;  she 
waded  into  its  rustling  hollows,  deep  in  fallen 
leaves;  she  stood  and  listened  to  its  still 
nesses.  Often  she  would  throw  herself  down, 
like  a  burden  she  was  weary  of,  on  its  broad, 
brown  lap,  letting  her  eyes  travel  upward  to 
the  complex  tracery  of  tree-stems  screening 
the  sky,  as  a  sick  child  will  dully  follow  the 
pattern  of  its  mother's  dress  or  the  reflections 
in  her  bending  eyes. 


252  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

Yet  she  could  be  merry  at  times,  when 
other  young  voices  were  near,  to  catch  and 
repeat  the  fitful  note  of  gayety  in  her  own. 
The  young  voices  that  sometimes  echoed  with 
hers  through  the  wood  belonged  to  two  bright- 
faced  lads  of  twelve  and  fourteen  years,  who 
appeared  to  enjoy  more  liberty  than  usually 
falls  to  the  lot  of  schoolboys.  They  were 
the  only  boarding-pupils  in  the  family  of  the 
minister,  who  kept  a  private  school  in  the 
neighborhood.  When  the  afternoon  sunlight 
gilded  the  tree-stems  and  dappled  the  warm 
slopes  of  the  wood,  they  were  always  at  large, 
making  the  rounds  of  their  favorite  haunts ; 
visiting  their  quail-snares  and  rabbit-traps,  or 
the  chestnut-trees,  where  the  last  of  the  crop 
lay  under  the  leaves,  or  extending  their  cir 
cuit  to  the  neighboring  fields  in  search  of 
frozen-thawed  apples.  Divers  and  many  were 
their  errands,  but  none  of  so  pressing  a  nature 
that  time  was  wanting  for  wrestling  together 
in  beds  of  fallen  leaves  or  flinging  surrep 
titious  armfuls  of  them  over  each  other,  or 
pausing  on  the  top  rail  of  a  fence  that  crossed 
a  hill,  to  wake  the  silent  landscape  with  a 
shrill  hoot  or  whistle. 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  253 

By  little  and  little,  in  odd  ways,  a  shy, 
wary  comradeship  had  sprung  up  between 
this  light-hearted  pair  and  the  lonely  girl. 
She  took  no  particular  attitude  toward  them ; 
she  was  not  motherly  or  sisterly  or  cousinly ; 
she  was  not  even  invariably  friendly.  Her 
mood  could  not  be  foretold.  Sometimes  she 
would  pass  them  with  an  abstracted  smile ; 
for  days,  perhaps,  they  would  not  exchange  a 
word ;  then  an  afternoon  would  find  them 
following,  side  by  side,  the  obscure  highways 
of  the  wood,  or  seated  in  the  shelter  of  a  rock, 
or  on  some  dry  hill-slope,  munching  sweet 
withered  chestnuts  and  talking  idly,  while 
the  shadows  crept  past  them  before  the  low 
sun. 

In  the  early  stages  of  their  acquaintance, 
Cecil  was  not  greatly  interested  in  the  lads 
as  individuals.  She  liked  their  impersonal 
boyhood ;  their  calls  to  each  other  across 
intervening  hills ;  their  ambuscades  and  sal 
lies  and  notes  of  warning,  their  unexpected 
touches  of  rude  sentiment ;  the  listening 
look  in  their  faces,  and  the  unconscious, 
perpetual  play  of  life  in  their  slim,  restless 
bodies.  But  her  observation  of  them  was 


254  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

respectful  and  reticent.  They  were  vaguely 
stimulated  by  it,  though  its  outward  signs 
were  slight.  Her  companionship  was  a  unique 
experience  in  the  lives  of  the  two  boys.  Her 
indefinite,  girlish  loveliness  and  grace  of  si 
lence  or  of  speech,  the  unexplained  solitude 
of  her  musing  walks,  some  hint  of  melancholy 
which  they  dimly  felt  in  her  presence  as  they 
felt  the  thrill  in  the  note  of  the  hermit-thrush 
in  the  heart  of  the  spring  woods,  touched  that 
dumb  response  to  beauty  which,  in  a  boy's 
nature,  is  often  hidden  in  proportion  to  its 
strength.  To  each  other  they  seldom  spoke 
of  Cecil,  and  by  a  tacit  understanding,  when 
they  were  attended  by  their  schoolmates,  they 
avoided  her  company,  as  a  pleasure  too  fine 
to  be  indiscriminately  shared. 

Cecil  was  as  incurious  about  the  actual 
life  and  character  of  her  two  comrades  as 
if  she  had  been  a  veritable  nymph  or  dryad 
of  the  woods,  meeting  them  on  that  border 
land  of  enchantment  which  tradition  supplies 
for  such  mythical  companionships.  She  heard 
them  call  each  other  Bert  and  Charley,  and 
she  inferred  from  their  accent  and  bearing 
that  their  associations  had  been  gentle  and 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  255 

their  discipline  scant.  They  had  read  with 
youthful  avidity  and  promiscuously,  like  boys 
who  had  had  books  within  reach,  with  no 
one  to  guide  their  selection. 

She  had  no  distinct  preference  for  Bert,  but 
when  she  talked  to  both  boys,  she  looked  in 
his  face  more  often  than  in  Charley's.  Bert's 
eyes  were  dark,  and  his  strongly  marked  eye 
brows  descended  slightly  as  they  approached 
each  other ;  when  his  hat  was  pushed  back,  his 
thick,  brown  forelock  showed  below  the  brim ; 
his  nose  was  still  uncertain  in  shape.  He 
laughed  a  great  deal,  showing  his  big,  solid, 
white  teeth  between  lips  whose  curves  kept 
their  childlike  purity  of  outline.  His  face  was 
deeply,  richly  colored ;  the  rims  of  his  well- 
formed  ears  glowed  a  fine  crimson  against 
the  slope  of  close-shorn  hair  fading  into  the 
lighter  brown  of  his  neck.  Charley,  the  elder 
lad,  was  blonde  and  freckled.  He  had  an 
honest,  sensitive  countenance,  and  eyes  which 
needed  only  darker  shading  in  the  brows  and 
lashes  to  bring  out  their  beauty ;  but  Charley's 
good  looks  were  problematical,  while  Bert's 
were  in  transition. 

It  was  not,  however,  its  joyous  beauty  that 


256  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

drew  Cecil's  eyes  so  often  to  Bert's  face ;  it 
was  a  puzzling,  elusive  hint  which  came  and 
went,  with  its  changing  expressions,  of  another 
face  she  had  known.  The  fascination  of  its 
recurrence  grew  upon  her  unawares;  she 
watched  for  it,  and  yet  shrank  from  it  when 
it  returned.  It  was  an  innocent,  unaccount 
able  likeness  ;  its  little  intermittent  hurt  could 
hardly  be  said  to  trouble  a  peace  that  was 
not  yet  attained,  or  to  rouse  memories  that 
had  never  slept. 

Early  in  December,  the  thin,  gray  ice  that 
stilled  the  surface  of  the  pond  grew  strong 
enough  to  bear  skaters.  The  quiet  of  the 
neighboring  hills  was  invaded  by  a  confusion 
of  voices  and  the  echoes  of  steel-shod  feet 
treading  the  sounding  ice-floor.  A  light,  dry 
snow  fell,  whitening  the  pathways  of  the 
wood.  It  disappeared  quickly  from  the  oper 
fields,  but  lingered,  like  sifted  ashes,  on  the 
brown  leaves  in  the  wooded  hollows. 

Cecil  had  found  a  new  revelation  of  half- 
forgotten  beauty  in  the  white  precincts  of  the 
pond,  lying,  like  water  in  a  swoon,  beneath 
the  bright,  unfruitful  winter  skies.  She  was 
still  attended  by  her  juvenile  body-guard,  nor 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  257 

did  she  covet  other  company.  Quite  uncon 
sciously  she  had  become  a  member  of  a  triple 
alliance,  which  kept  itself  intact  in  the  midst 
of  the  shifting  crowd  of  skaters  ;  but  she  was 
under  no  temptation  to  break  the  tacit  bond. 
The  representative  young  ladies  of  Little  Rest 
were  of  Miss  Esther's  age ;  its  young  men 
were  a  tradition  of  the  days  before  the  war. 
A  subsequent  and  less  characteristic  crop  had 
been  reaped  by  the  great  cities  or  neighbor 
ing  factories,  by  the  enticing,  devouring  fron 
tier,  and  the  equally  insatiable  sea. 

One  Saturday  evening,  after  sunset,  Char 
ley  and  Bert  had  kindled  a  fire  against  the 
slope  of  a  rock  that  walled  in  one  side  of  a 
little  cove.  The  shore  of  the  pond,  following 
the  curves  of  the  hill,  formed  this  miniature 
bay,  where  the  water,  sheltered  from  wind 
flaws,  froze  into  a  sheet  of  ice,  clearer  than 
that  of  the  open  pond.  The  white,  opaque 
ice-field  beyond  was  tinted  by  a  rosy  reflec 
tion  from  the  western  sky ;  above  the  frozen 
stubble-fields  the  new  moon's  sickle  gleamed. 
The  skaters  were  leaving  the  pond.  Cecil  was 
too  far  lost  in  the  enchantment  of  watching 
their  gypsy  fire  brighten  the  edge  of  twilight, 
17 


258  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

to  think  of  the  hour,  and  the  boys  were  not 
likely  to  remind  her. 

They  had  piled  stones  to  make  a  seat  for 
her  on  the  windward  side  of  the  fire.  She  sat 
with  her  back  against  the  rock,  her  muff  ex 
tended  in  one  hand  to  shield  her  face  from  the 
heat.  She  had  a  skater's  color  in  her  cheeks, 
but  her  lowered  lashes  gave  her  eyes  a 
dreamy  look.  The  wood  was  already  a  mass 
of  brown  shadows ;  around  the  fire-lit  circle 
of  faces  the  pale  tints  of  the  winter  land 
scape  were  fading.  The  blush  color  in  the 
west  had  changed  to  a  cold  blue,  in  which 
the  new  moon  gleamed  more  sharply,  but 
as  yet  there  were  no  distinct  shadows.  The 
white  ice-shield  gathered  and  diffused  the 
lingering  light. 

The  boys  sat  at  Cecil's  feet,  feeding  the 
flames  with  snapping  cedar-twigs  and  watch 
ing  the  scattering  volleys  of  sparks.  The 
smoke-coils  floated  off  and  dispersed  among 
the  deepening  glooms  of  the  wood. 

Cecil  was  silent,  confused  by  the  awaken 
ing  of  a  dull  heart-ache,  the  occasional  suspen 
sion  of  which  she  had  called  content.  She 
was  restless  with  the  beauty  of  the  evening. 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  259 

It  rankled  in  her  soul.  Such  evenings  were 
for  happy  people,  or  for  children,  to  whom 
each  day  was  a  separate  existence.  At  that 
moment  she  would  have  given  all  the  beauty 
that  enfolded  her  loneliness,  —  hushed,  dusky 
wood  and  glimmering  pond,  slumberous  fields 
and  softly  colored  twilight,  lit  by  the  crescent 
moon,  —  for  the  sky  of  solid  rock,  the  yellow 
candle-rays  and  inky  shadows  of  those  rugged 
underground  pastures  where  she  had  first 
recognized  the  love  and  the  sorrow  of  her 
lifetime.  With  this  or  with  that  small  cir 
cumstance  different,  how  different  all  might 
have  been!  The  thought  came  to  her  with 
the  agony  of  an  old  pain  that  returns  after 
an  interval  of  rest.  She  could  not  recall  one 
moment  of  absolute  happiness  that  she  had 
ever  known  through  Hilgard,  or  with  him. 
Their  moments  together  had  been  clouded 
by  the  trouble  that  was  coming  to  them  both ; 
but  few  and  poor  as  they  had  been,  the 
memory  of  them  was  intolerable  now. 

What  was -it,  after  all,  she  asked  herself, 
that  had  separated  them  ?  No  fatality  of  their 
past  had  kept  her  from  him  in  his  extremity. 
She  would  have  renewed  her  broken  prom- 


260  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

ise  at  his  death-bed,  and  felt  that  it  was  the 
sacrament  of  her  life.  She  could  think  of  him 
no  longer  as  the  dim-eyed  figure  she  had  left, 
prostrate  on  a  sick-bed.  But  were  youth  and 
strength  and  love  of  life  offences  in  him  for 
which  she  held  him  accountable  ?  Was  it  not 
rather  her  sick  faith  —  her  doubt  of  herself 
as  a  positive  and  vital  need  to  a  life  already 
replete  ?  If  it  were  possible  to  believe  that 
wherever  he  might  be  that  night  he  was 
thinking  of  her  and  wanting  her !  If  indeed 
his  happiness  were  in  her  gift  and  he  should 
ask  it  once  more  at  her  hands  —  what  would 
she  do  with  it?  Would  she  deny  him,  and 
bury  his  hope  and  hers  in  her  brother's  grave, 
—  the  old  wrongs  revenged  in  the  old  way, — 
the  hard  deeds  of  men  remembered  and  per 
petuated  by  women ! 

She  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet  and  stood 
against  the  rock,  receiving  upon  her  full- 
length  figure  the  strong  red  glow.  The  two 
lads  looked  up  at  her,  half  abashed  at  her 
loveliness. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  let  us  put  out  the  fire, 
We  must  go  home !  Will  you  go  with  me  as 
far  as  the  orchard  ? "  She  looked  doubtfully 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  261 

at  the  lads.  She  had  never  before  made  even 
so  small  a  claim  as  this  on  their  friend 
ship. 

Charley  grew  red  with  pleasure,  but  re 
mained  silent  while  Bert  answered  for  both. 

"  We  '11  go  all  tjie  way.  But  there  is  a  man 
coming  down  through  the  wood.  Let 's  wait 
till  he  gets  by." 

The  footsteps  left  the  path,  and  came 
crashing  and  trampling  down  into  the  hollow 
by  the  rock.  Bert  began  mentally  to  take  an 
attitude  of  defiance,  expecting  the  usual  re 
monstrance  from  some  farmer  of  the  neigh 
borhood,  in  regard  to  carelessness  with  fire. 
As  the  intruder  came  within  the  circle  of  light, 
Bert  and  Charley  turned  to  confront  him. 
He  was  tall,  youthful,  and  stalwart  of  figure, 
dressed  for  a  winter  journey,  in  seal-skin  cap 
and  belted  ulster.  There  was  a  formidable 
directness  in  his  glance  and  bearing.  The 
boys  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  fell  upon 
him  with  boisterous  greetings,  and,  dragging 
him  forward,  presented  him  to  Cecil  as  their 
brother. 

Hilgard  had  come  down  to  Little  Rest  in 
a  despairing  pause  of  his  search  for  Cecil. 


262  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

He  was  on  the  track  of  the  truant  lads,  but 
he  had  not  expected  to  find  Cecil  with  them, 
encamped  like  a  Romany  girl,  on  the  charmed 
edge  of  evening,  in  that  remote  hollow  of  the 
hills.  It  was  an  exquisite  surprise  —  a  rush 
of  joy,  so  keen  and  sweet  that  it  had  almost 
brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes.  She  was  a 
radiant  figure  in  the  warm  fire-glow,  but 
there  was  no  warmth  in  her  greeting. 

Cecil  knew  that  he  had  not  come  to  see 
her.  The  bond  between  them  seemed  more 
unreal  than  ever  in  the  presence  of  this  re 
lationship  which  she  had  not  even  suspected. 
As  she  looked  at  the  three  who  had  found 
each  other,  she  discovered  with  a  fresh  pang 
that  she  had  grown  fond  of  the  little  lads. 
She  must  lose  them  too,  since  they  belonged 
with  all  that  she  had  put  out  of  her  life  for 
ever.  They  counted  among  Hilgard's  com 
pensations,  —  if,  indeed,  he  needed  any,  —  not 
among  hers.  She  waited  in  awkward  misery 
for  a  chance  to  escape,  while  Hilgard  submit 
ted  to  the  tumultuous  questions  of  the  boys : 
Where  had  he  kept  himself,  and  why  had  n't 
he  written?  How  long  was  he  going  to 
stay,  and  would  he  give  them  that  week  in 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  263 

New  York  with  him  at  Christmas,  as  he  had 
promised  ? 

u  Oh,  I  say !  You  're  not  going  home  with 
out  us?"  they  exclaimed  to  Cecil,  who  had 
turned  away  toward  the  wood-path. 

"I  shall  not  need  you.  It  will  be  light 
enough  when  I  get  on  the  hill." 

She  did  not  stop,  and  her  manner  was  so 
decided  that  the  lads  hesitated,  looking  puz 
zled  and  hurt. 

"  She  asked  us  to  go  home  with  her,"  they 
appealed  to  Hilgard. 

"You  must  first  put  out  that  fire,  every 
spark,  before  you  leave  it,"  he  said,  in  the 
tone  of  authority  that  came  to  his  firm  voice 
more  readily  than  tones  of  tenderness.  But 
the  tenderness  trembled  in  it  the  next  mo 
ment,  when  he  had  followed  Cecil,  and,  walk 
ing  by  her  side,  his  head  down  close  to  hers, 
said,  — 

"  I  don't  know  where  home  is,  but  I  am 
going  there  with  you." 

"Not  to-night.  You  must  leave  me  to 
night." 

"  I  shall  never  leave  you,  because  I  shall 
never  find  you  again,  if  I  do." 


264:  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

Hilgard's  nerve  had  not  quite  forsaken  him. 
He  felt  very  quiet,  but  very  desperate.  From 
the  shore  of  the  pond  came  the  boys'  clear 
treble  shouts  as  they  trod  out  the  sparks  and 
flung  the  brands  of  their  lire  out  upon  the 
ice. 

"  Cecil,  let  us  understand  each  other  now," 
Hilgard  continued.  "Did  you  mean  every 
word  in  your  letter?  A  woman  should  not 
write  such  a  letter  as  that  to  a  man  she  does 
not  mean  to  marry." 

"  I  told  you  not  to  come  !  " 

"  You  may  tell  that  to  a  sick  man.  I  'm 
not  sick  now.  I  have  as  good  a  right  to  my 
wife  as  any  man.  I  have  found  her,  and  I 
mean  to  make  her  happy." 

Cecil  had  stopped,  moving  away  from  his 
side  in  the  narrow  path. 

"  It  is  too  much,"  she  said.  "  No  one  could 
bear  this  !  " 

"  Is  my  coming  too  much  to  bear  ?  " 

"  Your  coming  —  and  your  going.  It  is 
Cruel  to  keep  offering  me  what  I  cannot 
take ! " 

"  You  shall  take  it !  "  Hilgard  put  his  arms 
around  her  and  held  her  fast,  with  her  head 


OLD  PATHWAYS.  265 

pressed  close  against  his  turbulent  heart. 
"  It  is  not  taking,  it  is  giving.  Will  you  give 
me  nothing  for  all  my  love  ?  Let  us  end  it 
here  —  now.  This  is  the  only  human  way  !  " 

But  Cecil  was  not  yet  at  rest.  In  a  moment 
she  drew  away  from  him  and  listened,  with 
her  hands  against  his  breast,  and  her  cheek 
turned  toward  the  faint  breeze  that  blew  up 
from  the  hollow. 

"  Where  are  the  boys  ? "  she  whispered. 
The  moon  hung  low  over  the  darkening  out 
line  of  the  hills  ;  the  dim  landscape  returned 
no  sound  but  the  rustling  of  the  sear  leaves 
in  the  aisles  of  the  wood,  and  the  slight  rever 
berations  of  the  ice,  warping  with  the  night's 
increasing  cold. 

The  lads  had  not  been  slow  to  perceive 
that  there  was  a  mystery  of  previous  ac 
quaintance  between  Hilgard  and  their  girl- 
comrade,  and  that  their  company  along  the 
wood-path  was  neither  missed  nor  desired. 
With  hasty,  boyish  resentment,  they  had 
taken  themselves  off  by  another  path  toward 
the  village. 

"  They  have  gone  back  alone,"  Cecil  said, 
quickly  divining  her  offence  against  good- 


266  THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM. 

fellowship.  "  Won't  you  go  after  them  aud 
bring  them  back?  No,  you  needn't  come 
back  !  Stay  with  them,  please,  and  make 
them  understand  ! " 

Hilgard  laughed,  a  low  excited  laugh  of 
insecure  triumph. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  won't !  The  boys  will  have 
to  wait.  They  have  had  their  turn." 

"  But  it  is  not  kind,  and  they  have  a  right 
to  you  —  they  have  not  seen  you  for  so  long !  " 

"  I  have  some  rights,  myself.  They  might 
have  seen  me  if  they  had  told  me  you  were 
here.  Can't  you  spare  me  a  little  of  your 
kindness  for  the  boys  ? " 

She  put  up  her  cheek  close  to  his  bent  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  to  begin  —  if  I  once  began  to 
be  good  to  you  —  " 


THE  PATHS  MEET.  267 


XVI. 

THE  PATHS  MEET. 

HILGARD  and  Cecil  were  married  on  a  wet 
May  morning  when  the  wind  that  blew  across 
the  farms  bore  with  it  the  fragrance  of  rain- 
drenched  blossoms.  In  the  Hartwell  house 
a  wood-fire  lit  the  gloom  of  the  heavily  cur 
tained  parlor,  where  the  remnants  of  the  two 
families  were  assembled  to  witness  the  mar 
riage  ceremony.  Mr.  Conrath  did  not  lend 
his  countenance  to  the  proceedings,  in  any 
sense  of  the  word,  and  it  remained  for  the 
grandmother  to  give  away  the  bride.  It  was 
with  a  stern  reluctance  in  her  heart  that  she 
fulfilled  this  duty  of  relationship.  The  two 
women  who  represented  the  family  of  the 
bride,  wore  their  dull,  black  mourning  robes, 
but  Cecil,  with  pathetic  magnanimity,  had 
put  on  a  gown  as  white  as  the  happiest  omens 
might  have  called  for. 


2G8  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

In  the  pauses  of  the  service  the  soft  spring 
showers  dashed  in  gusts  against  the  window- 
panes,  and  rustled  in  the  deep-mouthed  chim 
ney.  The  perfume  of  hot-house  roses  stole 
luxuriously  upon  the  cool,  pure  air  of  the  old- 
fashioned  room,  with  a  suggestion  of  the  dis 
tant  city  and  the  men  and  women  of  the  world 
outside. 

The  carriage  had  not  yet  come  when  Cecil 
entered  the  parlor  in  her  travelling  dress. 
Mrs.  Hartwell  was  moving  about  the  room 
with  that  restlessness  upon  her  which  is  so 
much  more  painful  to  witness  in  a  large,  calm 
person  than  in  one  to  whom  it  is  habitual. 
The  boys,  on  whom  every  one  had  counted  as 
a  relief  to  the  intensity  of  the  occasion,  had 
developed  an  unexpected  shyness  of  Hilgard, 
in  his  anomalous  character  of  bridegroom. 
Cecil,  very  white  about  the  lips  and  dark 
about  the  eyes,  sat  buttoning  her  gloves,  and 
trying  to  listen  to  the  clergyman's  voice, 
prosing  gently  through  the  unhappy  silence. 
The  fire  snapped  behind  the  ponderous  brass- 
svork  which  guarded  the  grate.  Miss  Esther 
sobbed  audibly.  Hilgard  went  out  into  the 
entry  and  waited  by  one  of  the  side-lights, 


THE  PATHS  MEET.  269 

looking  down  the  empty,  dripping  vista  of 
trees.  It  was  a  relief  to  all,  when  the  spat 
tering  of  hoofs  and  the  soft  roll  of  wheels 
sounded  on  the  wet  gravel  outside,  and  Hil- 
gard,  standing  in  the  doorway,  said,  "  Cecil, 
the  carriage  is  here." 

Mrs.  Hartwell  crossed  the  room  and  folded 
Cecil,  with  passionate  deliberateness,  in  her 
large  embrace. 

"  Oh,  say  one  good  word  to  him  before  we 
go ! "  the  girl  entreated,  in  rapid,  smothered 
whispers.  "  He  is  my  husband.  He  is  your 
son ! " 

The  grandmother  straightened  herself.  She 
did  not  speak,  but  as  she  turned  away  her 
face  and  covered  it  with  her  handkerchief, 
she  extended  one  hand  to  Hilgard  with  a 
noble  and  gracious  gesture.  He  bent  above 
it  and  kissed  it  reverently  ;  remembering  that 
it  was  proffered  by  one,  the  latest  of  whose 
many  sorrows  had  come  through  him ;  whose 
last  pledge  of  happiness  he  had  made  his 
own. 

That  evening,  Mrs.  Hartwell  was  in  her  old 
seat  by  the  fireplace  in  the  back  parlor,  and 
Miss  Esther  was  standing  at  the  west  window, 


270  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

watching  the  locust  boughs,  heavy  with  their 
white  blossoms,  toss  in  the  gale.  The  rain 
had  ceased,  and  the  struggling  moonlight 
served,  as  it  were,  to  make  visible  the  wild, 
soft  wind,  whose  voice  they  heard  in  the 
chimney,  and  in  the  creaking  of  vines  against 
the  side  of  the  house. 

"  Esther,  I  wish  you  would  set  those  flowers 
in  the  other  room.  I  hate  the  scent  of  stale 
flowers  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hartwell. 

"  But  these  roses  are  not  faded  —  just  look 
at  them,  mother ;  I  never  saw  such  roses  ! " 

"  They  do  not  please  me.  There  were  no 
such  roses  when  I  was  a  bride.  They  are 
too  big  and  too  expensive,  like  everything 
nowadays.  The  idea  of  sending  such  things 
to  Cecil  !  They  are  about  as  much  like 
her  —  " 

A  vision  of  Cecil  on  the  empty  stool  oppo 
site,  her  elbow  resting  in  one  hand,  while 
the  other  strayed  to  the  pin  at  her  throat,  her 
cheek  pressed  against  the  cold  marble  of  the 
mantel,  finished  the  sentence  for  the  two 
women.  Miss  Esther  did  not  look  at  her 
mother,  who  spoke  again,  breaking  the  silence 
with  her  deep  intonation. 


THE  PATHS  MEET.  271 

"  Journeys,  journeys,  nothing  but  jour 
neys  !  Why  could  n't  they  leave  her  here 
in  peace?" 

"  Mother,  you  know  she  was  not  happy 
here." 

"  She  would  have  been  happy,  if  he  had  let 
her  be." 

"  She  would  have  been  happy,  perhaps,  if 
she  had  never  seen  him,"  Miss  Esther  said. 

"  She  never  ought  to  have  seen  him.  It 
was  no  place  for  a  young  girl.  I  always  said 
so.  There  were  no  such  places  when  I  was 
a  girl ;  the  name  is  enough.  There  was  no 
such  West !  When  people  went  West,  they 
thought  about  it  beforehand ;  they  consulted 
their  friends ;  families  went  together.  They 
were  a  long  while  going,  and  when  they  got 
there,  they  stayed.  There  was  none  of  this 
rushing  back  and  forth,  thousands  of  miles 
at  a  stretcli !  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  the  journey  Cecil 
minds.  And  he  will  take  good  care  of  her." 

"He  take  care  of  her!  He  is  nothing  but 
a  boy,  himself." 

"  You  cannot  deny,  mother,  that  he  has  a 
manly  look  —  " 


272  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

"His  looks  are  well  enough.  They  are 
nothing  but  boy  and  girl,  both  of  them.  They 
might  have  waited  five  or  ten  years ;  it  would 
have  been  more  fitting,  to  say  the  least." 

"  If  they  had  waited,  something  else  would 
have  happened,  very  likely.  I  think  it  is  bet 
ter  to  marry  young  —  " 

"  Than  not  to  marry  at  all  ? "  Mrs.  Hart- 
well  interrupted  with  scorn.  "  Why  is  n't  it 
respectable  for  a  woman,  now  and  then,  to 
stay  at  home  and  keep  things  together  for 
those  who  go  and  make  a  shipwreck  of  it  ? 
Why  could  n't  she  have  been  to  you  what  you 
have  been  to  me  ?  " 

"  No,  mother.    I  would  not  have  had  that! " 

"  Have  you  found  it  so  hard  ?  " 

"  Mother,  you  should  be  the  last  to  ask 
that !  You  know  it  is  all  the  life  I  could 
have  had.  But  it  would  have  crushed  Cecil, 
after  what  was  past.  And  it  would  n't  have 
been  fair  to  him." 

"  He  seems  to  have  been  quite  able  to  look 
out  for  himself.''  She  had  sunk,  from  the 
effort  by  which,  at  the  last,  she  had  accepted 
Hilgard,  into  a  querulous  bitterness  towards 
him  that  would  last  while  the  reaction  lasted. 


THE  PATHS  MEET.  273 

"Those  were  nice  boys — his  brothers,"  she 
added,  more  gently. 

"  Half-brothers,"  Miss  Esther  corrected. 

"  One  of  them  is  very  like  him  in  looks." 
her  mother  continued.  "  Did  you  say  they 
were  staying  here  ?  What  can  they  be  doing 
here  ? " 

"  They  are  pupils  of  Mr.  Lyle's." 

"  Well,  that  is  n't  a  bad  place  for  them. 
When  you  send  out  the  cake,  Esther,  I  wish 
you  would  send  them  plenty  —  what  boys  call 
plenty.  Perhaps  Mr.  Lyle  will  let  them  come 
up  to  tea,  some  Sunday  night." 

"  He  might  like  to  corns  with  them,"  Miss 
Esther  suggested,  meekly. 

"  I  dare  say  he  would,  but  I  don't  think  I 
care  about  him.  He  is  well  enough,  but  the 
boys  will  have  a  better  time  without  him." 

Miss  Esther  carried  the  roses  into  the  front 
parlor,  where  she  remained  a  few  moments, 
setting  chairs  back  into  their  places,  and 
closing  shutters  for  the  night.  She  paused 
before  the  open  piano,  and  laid  her  hand  on 
the  cold,  soundless  key-board.  The  worn 
ivory  sank  under  her  touch,  breaking  the 
stillness  of  the  room  with  its  helpless  dis- 
18 


274  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

cord.  She  closed  the  piano  with  a  dull  clap  of 
the  lid,  and  leaned  upon  it  while  the  murmurs 
of  the  imprisoned  chords  within  prolonged  the 
sound.  To  her  wistful  ear  the  room  was 
haunted  by  echoes  of  dumb  music,  —  songs 
that  had  been  sung  there ;  quick,  unsteady 
sallies  of  childish  feet ;  laughter  of  young 
girls  ;  whispered  vows  that  death  had  broken  ; 
stifled  sobs  and  prayers  for  the  dead. 

"  Esther,  I  want  you,"  her  mother  called, 
from  the  inner  room.  "  Come  close  to  me, 
child.  We  have  got  the  house  all  to  ourselves 
again.  Do  you  think  I  am  a  hard  old  woman  ? 
Oh,  I  miss  my  children !  I  miss  them  every 
day  and  every  night."  She  reached  out 
blindly  and  gathered  her  daughter  into  her 
arms.  "  I  had  set  my  foolish  old  heart  upon 
the  child.  She  was  the  last  one.  She  filled 
the  empty  place.  She  suited  me." 

t "  She  suited  him,  too,"  Miss  Esther  said,  in 
a  broken  voice.  "  She  suited  us  all !  Even 
her  father  was  proud  of  her  —  though  he  said 
she  had  no  manner,  and  never  would  have  ! " 
"  Manner ! "  the  old  lady  repeated,  wrath- 
fully.  «  She  had  heart ! "  They  spoke  of  Cecil 
as  if  she  were  already  with  the  past,  in  which 
thoughts  habitually  dwelt. 


EXIT  SHOSHONE.  275 


XVII. 

EXIT   SHOSHONE. 

THE  successor  of  Hilgard  and  Conrath  in 
the  management  of  the  Consolidated  Led- 
Horse  and  Shoshone  mines  was  one  day 
searching  out  the  corner  monuments  of  the 
original  claims. 

The  young  pines  in  the  gulch  —  which,  in 
stead  of  dividing,  now  united  the  two  prop 
erties — had  counted  another  circle  of  con 
centric  growth.  The  aspens  again  bore  their 
frail  golden  fleece,  a  prize  for  the  rapacious 
autumn  winds.  The  Shoshone  dwelling- 
house  had  been  converted  into  a  miners' 
boarding-house,  presided  over  by  Molly,  tjie 
wife  of  the  ex-timberman,  now  night  foreman 
on  the  Led-Horse  division,  and  the  path 
where  Cecil  had  taken  her  solitary  walks  was 
graded  into  a  road  for  ore-wagons. 

The  history  of  the  Led-Horse  and  the 
Shoshone  was  the  history  of  the  camp,  epito- 


276  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

mized.  The  stormy  beginning  of  days  was 
over ;  the  illegitimate  forces  were  under  con 
trol,  and  such  a  rude  challenge  as  that  which 
had  tested  Hilgard's  leadership  had  not  been 
known  in  the  camp  since  his  effectual  and 
impressive  acceptance  of  the  issue.  The 
public  value  of  his  deed  it  was  not  given  him 
to  know.  He  had  only  known  its  sharp  re 
coil  upon  himself. 

The  superintendent  was  studying  the  in 
scriptions  on  the  low  monument  stones  in  the 
bottom  of  the  gulch.  A  slight  golden  glitter 
led  his  eyes  to  the  spot  where  a  ring  lay,  half 
embedded  in  the  brown  pine-needles,  which 
had  borne  the  weight  of  the  winter's  snows. 

He  rubbed  away  the  earth  clinging  to  the 
words  heavily  embossed  on  its  outer  circle  : 
Dieu  vous  garde.  In  the  inner  circle  he  read 
the  faint  lettering :  C.  C.  from  H.  C.  He 
slipped  the  ring  on  his  smallest  finger;  it 
would  not  pass  the  middle  joint. 

The  superintendent  had  heard  of  Conrath's 
sister,  the  fair  young  girl  who  had  presided 
over  the  Shoshone  household  during  its 
stormiest  epoch,  and  had  vaguely  wondered 
what  part,  if  any,  might  have  been  hers  in  its 


- 

, 


CECIL'S    RING. 


EXIT  SHOSHONE.  277 

history.  He  was  not  so  mature  as  to  have 
lost  sight  of  the  fateful  nature  of  the  femi 
nine  element,  even  in  mining  complications, 
but  he  had  not  found  it  easy  to  believe  in  the 
existence  of  a  young  girl,  such  as  Miss  Con- 
rath  had  been  described,  in  such  a  place, 
under  such  circumstances.  It  had  been  his 
experience  that  women  generally  fitted  the 
places  where  they  were  found,  and  the  men 
who  were  their  companions.  Here,  however, 
was  presumptive  proof  of  civilized  feminine 
occupation  at  an  early  period  of  the  Shoshone 
history.  He  carried  the  ring  a  week  or  more, 
each  day  intending  to  express  it  eastward, 
and  finally  sent  it,  directed  to  the  office  of 
the  Consolidated  Company,  to  be  forwarded 
to  Miss  Conrath.  It  was  not  without  a  faint 
sentiment  of  regret  that  he  parted  with  the 
one  gentle  association  connected  with  the 
story  of  the  Shoshone  tragedy. 

He  leaned  against  the  counter  of  the  ex 
press  office,  waiting  for  his  receipt,  and  watch 
ing,  meanwhile,  the  weighing  of  one  of  those 
long  pine  boxes  which  form  part  of  the  freight 
of  every  overland  train. 

"  Who  is  that  they  're  shipping  East  ?  "  one 


278  THE  LED-HORSE   CLAIM. 

of  the  loungers  at  the  counter  inquired  of 
the  express  agent. 

"Don't  you  remember  ^- young  fellow  got 
shot,  up  at  the  Shoshone,  a  year  ago  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  jumpin'  scrape,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  just  about  closed  out  the  jumpin' 
business  in  this  camp." 

"I  thought  they  planted  him  for  good," 
another  voice  struck  in.  "They  made  row 
enough  about  it !  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  Gashwiler's  racket.  Pity 
they  had  n't  planted  him  instead  ! " 

"What's  come  of  old  Gash?"  the  first 
speaker  asked,  of  the  company,  generally. 

"  Last  I  heard  of  him  he  was  stealin' 
Indian  ponies  over  on  the  reservation." 

"  Two  ninety-seven,"  the  man  at  the  scale 
called  to  the  clerk.  He  printed  the  number 
of  pounds  weight  upon  the  lid  of  the  box, 
and  swept,  with  one  stroke  of  his  marking- 
brush,  a  black  circle  around  the  figures. 

Conrath  was  going  home  at  last.  The 
camp  lightly  remembered  his  misdeeds ;  but 
the  women  who  had  waited  long  for  his  body 
to  be  brought  to  them  from  the  alien  soil  where 
\t  had  lain,  kept  a  different  record — a  record 


EXIT  SHOSHONE.  279 

in  which  all  was  forgotten  save  the  good  they 
had  known  of  him. 

They  made  his  grave  beside  an  older  one, 
the  headstone  of  which  bore  the  name  of 
Cecilia  Hartwell,  wife  of  Robert  Conrath, 
who  had  died  in  the  twenty-eighth  year  of  her 
life  and  the  sixth  year  of  her  marriage.  The 
matted  growth  of  periwinkle  which  had  woven 
its  coverlet  of  dark  and  shining  leaves  abore 
the  mother's  bed,  before  another  winter's 
snows  had  whitened  it  and  another  summer 
had  starred  it  with  purple  blossoms  had 
crept  half  across  the  new-made  grave.  One 
might  fancy  the  mother,  in  her  sleep,  reaching 
out  unconsciously  and  covering  her  child. 


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